


The Thrilling Adventures of the Green Knight

by ThisWasInevitable



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Anal Sex, Background Character Death, Campaign: Amnesty (The Adventure Zone), Canon-Typical Violence, Discussions of sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Forced Orgasm, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Overstimulation, Pining, Rating May Change, Reader requests, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Shibari, Slow Burn, Supervillains, TAZ Amnesty, background danbrey, background sternclay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:14:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 71,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23622163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisWasInevitable/pseuds/ThisWasInevitable
Summary: Kepopolis is a city protected by the Pine Guard, a rag-tag band of superheros. Duck Newton, AKA the Green Knight, is one such hero, and has made a life for himself as humble park ranger by day and hero by night.But Kepopolis has a new villain who always manages to be one step ahead of the Pine Guard. The Moth is turns out to be infamous, dangerous, and mysterious. And crossing paths with him will alter Duck's life in ways he never imagined.
Relationships: Indrid Cold/Duck Newton
Comments: 55
Kudos: 138





	1. Enter the Moth

**Author's Note:**

> This came from a reader request, and the basic characters are from a series of superhero prompt fills I did on Tumblr.

Kepopolis. A shining jewel of metropolitan living, a glittering example of culture, industry, and prosperity. This city, with its grand skyscrapers and lush gardens, with it’s many museums and excellent schools, owes it’s success to the hard work of everyday citizens, striving to make it the best place in America to live, work, and play.

Of course, if you ask the citizens rather than the politicians, they’ll tell you that having a high population of superheroes helps a whole hell of a lot. 

Heroes like Blue Thunder, a proud warrior of a woman with the ability to create portals through space and who once carried an entire double-decker bus of tourists to safety without breaking a sweat.

Heroes like The Lady Flame, who controls the elements--especially fire--with a smile and an indestructable, genetically modified rabbit sidekick. Whether she and Demeter, who’s command over plants has given more than one villain botanophobia, are an item is the speculation of every tabloid from San Francisco to Manhattan. 

Heroes like the Green Knight, super-strong and super-tough, less glamorous than his counterparts but no less skilled at maintaining order and justice. 

The Green Knight who, at this very moment, has the sense they are all about to be deeply, thoroughly fucked. 

“I cannot believe this! You three, standing here, telling me you have no idea who stole these necklaces from my room, what do I even pay taxes for?”

“We ain’t paid by, know what nevermind. Mrs. Winthrop, we’re checkin' out the situation right now. You sure none of your alarms were tripped?” The Green Knight (true name: Duck Newton) rubs his forehead. With folks howling at him like this as soon as things go wrong, no wonder he's going gray.

“Positive. We have the best security system money can buy” Winthrop Winthrop the Third sniffs. 

“Well, whoever did this just, like, shorted the whole thing out.” Lady Flame (true name: Aubrey Little) finishes flipping through the security feed from the mansion, “Probably did it remotely, because there’s no sign of even, like, a hand coming into frame to fuck with them.”

“Chicanery, any chance it’s that old partner of yours?” Duck looks over at the third hero, (true name: Ned Chicane (at least, that's what he insists it is), former alias: the Crooked Man). 

“No such luck, my friend. For one, I cannot even locate the method they used to gain entry; it’s as if they picked the lock and opened the safe on the first try. Besides, the Gent is not always tech-savvy. He would have missed the spy-camera on the dresser long enough to get caught on tape."

“Oh this is awful, just awful.” Mrs. Winthrop throws herself onto the bed, weeping, and her husband pats her mechanically. 

Duck rubs his temples again, trying to maintain his professional demeanor. Yes, he thinks stealing is wrong and yes, he knows his duty is to help all those to need it.

But these are bits of shiny, crystallized charcoal, that are missing. Lot’s of things go missing in this town. 

Two days ago he’d had to track down a missing kid, barely made it in time to save her (not from a villain, just from a man who long ago stopped seeing others as human) from being dismembered. He’d taken a baseball bat to the ribs and the guy tried to sic his German Shepherds on him (they didn’t go for it; Duck’s pretty damn good with animals). The little girl held onto him the whole way home, her parents unable to speak through their tears when he’d walked into the apartment with her in his arms.

He sighs, “Mrs. Winthrop, we’ll do our best, but I can’t make any promises. You might wanna take this to the cops in the meantime. They may be able to get it done faster’n us, especially if this turns out to be a regular person rather than a supervillain. After all, ain’t nothin yet to suggest this more than a real good cat burglar.”

\-------------------------------------------------------

“Still think it’s a ‘real good cat burglar?” Grizzly (true name: Madeline Cobb, though she only goes by Mama) looks at Duck as they survey the empty bank vault.

“No, I do not.” He sighs, adds, “unless we got reason to suspect this ain’t the same person.”

“The alarm was tripped, but other than that it matches what you three found last week; no prints, everything seems like it was opened or disabled on the first try, and there was no sign of the person anywhere nearby even though it was less than two minutes from the alarm tripping to the cops arriving.” Bigfoot (true name: Barclay Cobb--no blood relation to Mama, took her name as a sign of respect) comes in from the lobby. 

“Guards get a look at who knocked them out?” Mama looks at the vault door for signs of how it was opened.

“Nope. Each got it on the back of the head when the other wasn’t present, which usually takes super-speed or stealth. Besides, emptying a vault in on go? With no help? Hard for a normal person to do.”

“Agreed” Mama straightens, hands on hips, “fellas, I hate to say it, but we got a new villain in town.”

\------------------------------------  
“Well, fuck me running.” Ned looks around the display hall at the Kepopolis Museum of Culture, now missing several items from it’s most popular displays. 

“You said it.” Aubrey circles the room, eye’s drawn to the skylight in the ceiling

“Alright, accordin' to the curators, they’re missin' three things: A ruby necklace from the" Jewels of Famous Families" exhibit, a dress from the “Glamour through the Ages” room, and a small Mothman model from that travelin Del Toro exhibition.” 

“I see…” Ned taps his chin, “at this rate, I fear the cultural treasures of our fair city will be depleted within the month.”

“Yeah, our new villain ain’t wastin time, that’s for damn sure. Good news is, we got an eyewitness on this one. Guy was chasin his dog, guess it’d gotten off the leash while he was walkin it, and saw someone roof hoppin'. He couldn’t get close, but we do know they were tall, thin, ha greyish hair, and were wearin’ all black with a red mask or maybe glasses, he wasn’t sure.”

“That’s better than nothing.” Aubrey points up, “And it means I’m right! That skylight has a smudge, you can see it from here, that looks like someone had trouble getting it open. If the guy saw our villain getting away on the rooftops, that’s how they got in and out.”

They return to Amnesty, AKA the secret base under the Amnesty Lodge, Mama’s beloved coffee shop, with their report. 

“Know we oughta count ourselves lucky whoever it is is more interested in loot than in hurtin people, but they've done six robberies in four weeks. That headache’s only gonna get bigger if we don’t put a stop to them now.” Mama cleans her sonic shotgun as she grumbles, “we ain’t ever run across a villain who could stay this unseen for this long, or who wasn’t itchin for the chance to have their name and face plastered over every frontpage and website in the country.”

“I could modify some vines to hold nano-cams, but that’d take at least a week, maybe two, and we’d have to put them freaking everywhere.” Demeter (true name: Dani Coulice) offers.

As they brainstorm, Duck leans back in his chair, feet up on the GPS console. Mulls over what they know, tries to get inside the head of someone who wants precious, valuable items and is very good at avoiding even the most complex security. 

How many successful robberies before he gets cocky?

“Ain’t they bringin’ that rare black rose plant to the botanical garden next week?”

“Yeah. You think our villain will go for it?” Dani spins in her seat.

“There’s been two attempted thefts of it already during it’s tour.” Barclay says, flipping through the info screen at his station. 

A smile itches the corner of Duck’s mouth. 

“Even better.”

\--------------------------------------------------------

Duck stands in the shadows of an ornamental juniper hedge, scanning the gravel walkways and the dark patches beneath trees for any sign of his target. 

Normally, the rose is under much tighter surveillance. But he wants to make this as easy as possible for the thief. At least, it’ll be easy if they cooperate with Duck.

It’s well after midnight, and he’s wishing he’d had more coffee or asked the others to do this in shifts with him rather than leave him to do it alone. 

“Lovely night.” A voice, lilting and casual, slips from the trees directly across the circular courtyard from him. 

“Yeah,” he steps into the light, matching the visitors tone, “great night for stargazin’. Or, uh, it would be if there weren’t so much light pollution.”

“You know, a simple knock to the power grid could solve that. You might even be able to see the milky way.”

“Yeah, well, unlike some people, I got problem solvin’ methods that ain’t illegal.”

“Was that directed at me?” Something red glints in the shadows.

“You see anyone else sneakin around here when they-”

“-shouldn’t be?” The voice completes the sentence with him, adds, “no, as I assume you were placed here as part of this very obvious trap.”

“If it’s so obvious-”

“-why did I come?”

“Stop doin’ that.”

“Apologies, it is more a bad habit than anything else.”

“Bad habit? And all that criminal shit is what, a hobby?”

A light laugh, “Of course not. It’s my profession, my calling. But I doubt you would understand anything about that, would you?” The figure steps out of the shadows as it grins, “Duck Newton.”

Duck keeps his poker face, but knows no answer will be taken as confirmation of his identity, “Don’t, uh, don’t know who, uh, fuck, who you’re, uh, speak-talkin to there, uh, partner, but it ain’t, fuck, me.”

Dark eyebrows arch above red glasses, “was that supposed to be a lie?”

“...Yeah” He grumbles. 

“What an annoying quirk that must be.” The man sounds genuinely sympathetic, then the grin returns, “but not as annoying, I imagine, as knowing next to nothing about an opponent while he knows, among other things, your name."

The man walks leisurely along the gravel circle, at the center of which sits the rose in it’s container, as he talks. His hands are folded behind his back, silvery hair falls past his angular face to nearly dust his shoulders, and his long frame casts as longer shadow behind him. Duck sees now how the eyewitness got confused; the red glasses have thick, silver rims, making them look very much like a mask. 

“I applaud your choice of color scheme, Green Knight. I admire a man who favors subtle colors over flashy ones.” He gestures first to Duck’s dark green and pants, marked with a pine insignia, then to his own outfit of black pants, boots, shirt, and short jacket. 

“Not gonna gloat by usin' my name over and over?”

“Just because _I_ know it doesn’t mean anyone else should.” That grin again, wide and unnerving. 

Duck squares his shoulders, “Look, this don’t gotta turn into a fight. If you come with me peacefully or, hell, just agree to return what you stole, no one’s gotta get hurt. Besides, stealin' this is a real dick move. You got any idea how hard that kind of rose is to cultivate?”

The man shakes his head, “I knew you were going to say that. Just like I know that you are here alone. Let me guess” he tilts his head, now staring directly at Duck, “you knew I would take the bait of an obvious trap because I was cocky and wanted the prize, but assumed that because I have been non-confrontational in my other endeavors, I am not much of a fighter and therefore only you would be needed.”

Duck nods, “Pretty much got it one there.” 

The man steps closer at an even pace while Duck stands his ground. 

“You are right, I’m not much for fighting.”

Then the man is up in the air, landing behind Duck and knocking him to the ground, “but that is not because I am bad at it.”

Duck swings his legs out, but misses. Gets to his feet and swings, but misses again. His opponent dips and spins and dives out of the way each time, and Duck knows he must look ridiculous missing him over and over. 

“There, do you see? You will not get so much as strike on meOUCH!” He stumbles back, Duck having feinted up and left before connecting his right fist the man’s stomach.

“You’re were sayin?”

“Fine.” the man hisses before launching himself onto Duck. Duck rolls, managing to use the villain’s momentum to fling him away into a shrub as they hit the ground.

“Not bad. They are not exaggerating your strength.”

“You want another taste of it?” Duck gets to his feet, waiting to see if the man will surrender. 

A teasing chuckle as he stands as well, “While the thought of seeing you flaunt more of that strength is an amusing one, I do have places to be.” 

A shimmery, orange light flicks through the air, landing on Ducks chest. It glows brighter, and the ground tilts under him, his head spinning so badly he expects his neck to twist off. 

His knees hit the ground as he tries and fails to stand, vision going speckled at the edges. 

“Fuck, christ what did you just do.”

“Oh, a little trick of mine to keep you from following me.” Gravel crunches as black boots appear in his vision, “you’ll come to in about ten minutes, perhaps sooner given how durable you are. It was nice meeting you, Knight. And if your compatriots ask what happened to you, tell them you have made the acquaintance of The Moth.”

The last thing Duck sees is The Moth raising his foot. The heel of a boot connects with his eye, and all the stars go out.


	2. A Worthy Foe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Pine Guard does their best to get the jump on The Moth. Indrid causes trouble. Agent Stern pays a visit. Duck fights dirty.

“You should count yourself lucky, my friend.”

“Why, because he only gave me a kinda-black eye instead of sendin me to beef city while I was out?”

“No. Because you have Ned ‘Damage Control’ Chicane on your side, and he just got off the phone with the irate head of the botanical gardens and has soothed her rage down to merely gentle disappointment.” Ned settles into the chair next to Duck in the briefing room. 

“Can’t fuckin believe he took me down that easy.” 

“Hey, it’s okay buddy.” Aubrey pats his shoulder, tugs the drawstring of her sweatshirt free from where Dr. Harris Bonkers, PhD, is trying to eat it, and continues, “we’ve all had times where a villain kicked our butts a little.”

“Yeah, but we ain’t had a villain like this in Kepopolis in a long time.” Mama strides into the room, Barclay following behind her with a platter of mugs, which he sets on the table.

“Dani, can you get the lights? Thanks, kiddo. Barclay, you wanna show ‘em what we found?”

The large screen on the wall flickers to life. In the top left corner is a blurry cell-phone photo of a man in black disappearing through a window. The rest of the screen is full of dates, location tags and case reports. And at the very top it reads:

“Indrid Cold. Alias: The Moth.” Mama says from her spot in the corner, “Been on the scene about five years, goin’ by his rap sheet. Story’s always the same; he hits a city, hangs around a year or so stealin’ from anywhere and everywhere, then disappears. Barclay had a hunch this might be our man based on a similar pattern that happened in Atlanta a year ago. Someone who left no marks, no video footage, never managed to get caught or seen by a single person. What Duck learned last night confirms it.”

“Take it there’s no record of that name anywhere but here?” Duck points at the screen.

“Correct. Guy’s got no address, no birth certificate, bank accounts, nada.” Barclay sips his tea, “Only reason we even know his full name is that he’s introduced himself to people as that, usually right before robbing them.”

“Does this help, like, at all in terms of figuring out his powers?” Aubrey spins a small flame in her hand as she speaks. 

“Nope.” Barclay flips to the next screen, “all the other teams or heroes that have tried to take him down have to show for it is guesswork.”

Duck reads the glowing letters with a sinking feeling. 

_Abilities  
-High technical/mechanical proficiency  
-Super-agility  
-Stealth  
-Clairvoyance ?  
-Time manipulation?  
-Influence over probability?_

_Weaknesses_

_-???????_

“Comfortin’.” Duck deadpans.

“Yep.” Mama replies, “like I said, we’re lucky he’s greedy rather than violent. None of the heroes in any of those other cities even laid a hand on him. He left because he got bored, far as we can tell.”

“Hold on, if he’s stolen so much stuff, he can’t be keeping it all like some dragon right?” Aubrey looks at Ned, “he’d have to sell some eventually. Maybe we can track that?”

“They tried that back in Dallas; guy has a knack for pickin buyers who don’t get caught later on or who, when they do, got no ability to trace it back to him.”

“Darn it.”

“It is still an admirable idea, my dear Aubrey. And it may still be worth it for me to put my contacts in the underworld to good use.”

“The ones that won’t kidnap you, you mean?”

“That was a one-time miscalculation, Duck.”

A red light blinks on the screen, and Barclay taps a button, causing Jake Coulice (Dani’s little brother) to appear.

“Um, dudes? Mr. Man in Black just walked in.”

“Ugggggh.” Aubrey flops back in her chair, “That time already?”

“Send ‘im down.” Mama says before flipping on the lights. 

By the time they reach the main room, the secret door swings open and Agent Joseph Stern of the Department of Hero Oversight, walks in.

“Good morning, everyone.” He smiles pleasantly and, when no one smiles back, settles into a more neutral expression, ‘You know the drill; I'm here to be sure we have an accurate picture of your powers and weapons. I’ll start on the left and work counterclockwise. 

Dani is first, and Stern takes his time checking over and taking notes on her Devil’s Snares and Nettle Darts, offering several compliments about her newly developed African Alarm Orchid. 

“Any new powers, Ms. Little?”

“Nope!” Aubrey smiles. Duck knows for a fact she’s mastered at least one new water power since Stern’s last visit. But the agent simply smiles, pet’s Dr. Harris Bonkers on the nose, and continues his rounds. 

Ned is next, and leads him out to the garage to check the status of their vehicles (the HoverCat, Aubrey’s motorcycle, and Ned’s beloved Chicane-Mobile (a modified Lincoln that takes corners remarkably well).

When he comes back inside, Duck is waiting for him with all his equipment laid out by his console. 

“Smartwhips, BUGs, cloaking powder...wait, did something happen to your main weapon?”

“No, right here” Duck points to his belt, “do I really gotta take him out? You know what he looks like.”

“It’s protocol, Duck.”

Duck groans and unfurls his long, whip-like sword. Whenever he does this, there’s a rush, like the first time he laid his hands on it, a moment where he feels every inch the hero he’s supposed to be. 

“Duck Neeeeeewton.”

And there’s the comedown, right on time. 

“Whyyyy did you not utilize meee properly last night? We could have pinned the moth to the spot.” 

Duck folds the sword back up as it chortles at it’s own joke. 

“That enough proof that I ain’t packin somethin I shouldn’t be?”

“Yes. Thank you, Mr. Newton.”

“Stern, just call me Duck.”

“Right. Thank you.”

As Duck puts his gear away, Stern turns to Barclay. There’s a split second where both men grow one shade pinker before composing themselves. Barclay doesn’t have much in the way of gear, given that his power is transformation based, yet Stern seems to be going over it all very thoroughly. 

“I stopped in the other day on my way to work.” Stern wouldn’t be audible if Duck were not standing just a foot away from him.

“Oh, yeah. Jake said he thought you came in, but wasn’t sure because he’s never seen you in a t-shirt.”

“I can’t wear suits all the time.”

“I know. Just, uh,” Barclay’s voice goes a tad rumbly, “didn’t take you for the type to wear a ‘bigfoot lover’ shirt.”

“Uh, um, yes, well, you know I have an interest in cryptozoology. Just like I have an interest in good cooking. What I had here was absolutely amazing, I wish I’d been stopping to eat every time I came here. You’re an incredible cook.”

“Thanks.” Barclay gives him a real smile before he heads over to check on Mama. 

When Stern is done, he addresses the room, “Well, all clear as usual. Thank you for your time. I’ll be back next month.”

“Hold up.” Mama steps forward, “Don’t suppose the folks on your end know anythin about this Moth fella that we don’t?”

Stern shakes his head, “I’m afraid not. He’s as much a mystery to us as he is to you. That being said, if what Mr. New-, I mean, Duck said in his report is true and the Moth knows your identities, you may wish to alert any family to take on extra security measures. Good morning.”

When he’s gone, Ned looks at Duck, “So, my friend, any thoughts on our next steps?”

“We try thinkin like The Moth again. And this time, I’m bringin back-up.”

\----------------------------------------------------

“My, my, how nice to meet more of you.” Cold’s voice purrs from the warehouse rafters, “Aubrey Little, I must say I admire your talents. Ned Chicane, I heard from your old partner just the other day and he is rather annoyed with you.”

“C’mon out of the shadows, Cold, no point in playin all mysterious if we know you’re here.”

“A fair point, chivalrous one.” Cold comes into view on one of the beams, high, high up. 

“Got your grapplin hooks ready?” Duck whispers to the others. They both nod.

“Looks like we got the jump on you this time. That paintin is stayin put, unless you feel like playin three on one.”

“Oh?” Cold says lightly, smiling at all three of them before settling on Duck, “Is it now?” 

He reaches into the shadows, produces a wrapped rectangle without ever looking away.

“Son of a-” Duck fires his grappling hook, ascending as fast as he can.

“Until next time, Knight.” He drops off the beam, only for dark, mechanical wings to sprout from his jacket, carrying him up and out of the high window. 

“Well…at least we know another ability now, right?” Aubrey says from the ground.

“Yeah, we do.” Duck replies, still dangling.

 _Next time, Cold, I’m clippin your fuckin wings._

\------------------------------------------------------------

“We simply must stop meeting like this.” Cold grins, upside down in the snare Duck set using the Smartwhip, “I am impressed with this device of yours; well concealed enough that I knew it was here, just not where until I was in it.”

“Compliments ain’t gettin you out of this, Cold.” His red-tinted reflection scowls back at him.

“Of course not. I intend on getting out of it another way.”

“You ain’t gettin out of it _period_. It’s taken three fuckin weeks of us dancin around like this for me to get you.”

“Which you did all on your own. I am a bit surprised they let you go, rather than request you assist with that stand-off downtown.”

“Ned and Leo are both real good negotiators. Dani’s nettle darts can help calm folks down, uh, so to speak, if things get real bad.”

"Ohhhh, I had wondered what she put in those. Four of them managed to actually make me a bit woozy." Cold looks at him with interest and he realizes talking shop with the enemy may not be wise. 

“Point is, you’re comin with meFUCK” The Moth’s body swings forward, propelled by half-trapped wings. It’s inelegant and doesn’t have much force behind it but it throws him off balance. 

“Got it.” The Moth grins, then looks alarmed as the whip releases him, the point he’s at in his arc meaning he falls face down on the ground. Duck snickers and Cold lunges from a crouch, Duck barely dodging in time. The Moth tries twice more to grab him, and in spite of catching a strike on the cheek, he stays clear. Cold takes a hit to shoulder, but stays standing.

“You are quite the fighter.”

“Not so bad yourself.” He flings out the other whip but Cold is ready, grabbing it and yanking, trying to trap Duck instead.

The end result is they both end up with their wrists tied. 

“Goddamnit, thought I fixed that glitch.” Duck pulls, trying to force the ropes apart. 

“Isn’t it responsive to your biosignature?” Cold pokes at the whip with a small, zapping tine, trying to short it out again.

“Close, fingerprints. But I gotta be in the right angle, just, hmm, step to your right and gimme some slack.”

“Nono, if you pull taught I can better get this into the main circuitry. It merely disables it for a time” he says, apparently seeing Duck’s objection coming, “you will be able to use the device again.”

“Hold up, if can, got-”

“-It” Cold says along with him, the rope dropping to the ground between them. He stares at it a moment, then looks up at Duck.

“Well, this has been enlightening. But I think it’s best if I take my leave. Goodnight, Knight.”

With that, he takes off. Duck watches him go, then looks behind him. 

The Museum of Technology stands in the moonlight, complete with a fully intact weapons display.

This makes five times he’s managed to keep Cold from actually running off with something. And he doesn’t even have a black eye, like the last four. He decides to savor the victory, in case next time it all goes to hell. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Indrid Cold usually works alone. But when The Rogues Gallery asked if he wanted to assist in crashing one of the largest galas of the year, he saw it as being worth the risk.

He is now regretting that decision. 

They’d know it would be heavily guarded, and that the heroes would be on-call to respond quickly to any trouble. But he had not foreseen that the heroes would pick up two SWAT teams on the way there. 

“I _hate_ guns.” He hisses from the shadows of the Hall of Fathers, his face and the Gent’s (true name: Boyd Mosche) doing their best to blend in with the portraiture. 

“And I hate that shark fella. He always comes in with his bloody teeth bared, makes the whole thing look like we’re gonna murder everyone, and then this happens.”

“I take it you plan to flee shortly?”

“No honor among thieves and all that. Got some nice things off the police chief’s table. What kinda bloke needs a watch this expensive?”

“The kind with taste, old friend.” Says a familiar voice.

“Oh, what would you know about taste, _Edmund_?”

“That holding innocent people at gunpoint is an example of it in it’ worst form, _Mosche._ ” 

“You know I don’t carry a bloody gun!”

“I will, ah, leave you two to sort this out.” Indrid smiles, a bit awkwardly, and inches towards the door. 

He doesn’t need to see the hand emerging from the shadows, the green eyes glinting behind a green mask. He simply says, “This night has been enough of a headache already, chivalrous one. I do not need to add a literal head injury into the mix.”

“You know I don’t wanna fight, Cold. You can make this easy.”

He whirls, ready to attack and disarm, but Duck is ready, braces so Indrid can’t knock him over. Indrid growls in frustration. He just wants to be done with this disaster of an evening, but it seems the only way to do that is to get through the Knight.

“Aw, don’t get sore just cause I’m learnin your moves. OWfuck, did you just fuckin bite me?”

“Yes, obviously!”

“I wasn’t really ask-, no, forget it, you wanna fight dirty, we can.” Strong arms wrap around him and start to squeeze. He hisses, manages to free an arm, delivers a sharp right to Duck’s face and kicks him hard enough in the stomach to break free. As he recovers, Indrid sprints for the nearby window. 

Duck chases him, grabs and Indrid jumps up to avoid him. As he comes down, he realizes his error. In one smooth motion, the Knight turns, using Indrid’s body weight against him and sending him shattering through the window. 

Indrid lands wrong, feels his ankle turn a way it shouldn’t, and when he tries to get up and run he goes right back down into the grass. He tries again, slower, manages to build up a decent hobble as his wings emerge from their compartment. 

He glances behind him, but finds the least likely future; the Knight is simply standing on the other side of the window, watching him. He doesn’t give chase. Instead, after a moment he turns his back and, as far as the futures show, heads into the main room to help the others. 

The flight to hideout 18 is mercifully brief, and once he’s inside he strips down to his undershirt, hopping to the small freezer for ice and a bottle of Hi-C to soothe his nerves. Then he hophobbles to the couch, and finds the best position for icing his foot. 

His sketchpad in reach, he picks up a pen and begins drawing. At first it’s helpful images, futures he needs to watch, but it rapidly descends into him drawing all the other ways he could have spent the night. 

After ten or so minutes, he senses he’s being watched. He scans the room, not yet ready to turn his normal red glasses back into his mask. 

There, under the lamp. Something small and green. A bug, no doubt. 

“Hello, little friend. It’s alright, moths do not eat other bugs.”

Antenna emerge, followed by a shiny green body. 

A shiny, green, _mechanical_ body.

He sighs, “who’s trying to spy on me tonight?”

The bug clicks in short bursts, intermixed with longer ones. He hesitates, then says, “can you repeat that?”

It does, and this time he’s ready, marks down the morse code the bug clicks out so he can read it over and translate it. 

“A.R.E Y.O.U O.K? Why does that matter to you?”

“Y.O.U L.O.O.K.E.D A.C.T.U.A.L.L.Y H.U.R.T.”

He wants to say that he’s lucky; in another time, this injury would not merely be a nuisance. Being foolish enough to be injured in a fight was cause for punishment.

“So you decided to spy on me to be certain I was incapacitated?”

“N.O. W.A.S W.O.R.R.I.E.D W.A.N.T.E.D T.O. B.E S.U.R.E I.T.S N.O.T S.E.R.I.O.US”

He stares at the bug again, puzzling over who even saw him get hurt, let alone bother to check on him. Could it possibly be…

“Am I speaking to Duck?”

“N. U.H F.U.C.K U.H. Y.E.A.H.” 

He smirks; the Knight must be telling the bug what to say.

“Your concern is touching. I will be fine by tomorrow. Also, since you somehow tracked me here, I am abandoning this hideout, so don’t look here again. I am going to crush your little bug now, just to be safe. Ah, goodnight.”

It takes some force, but the device turns to mashed bits in his palm. Then he sighs, and goes to pack up his things. 

The next evening, in hideout 7, he sits down and his info screen and pulls up his files on the Pine Guard. He’s read Duck’s file several times, in part searching for why he was remarkably adept at anticipating what he wanted to steal. It says what it always does: the man came into his powers at 18, trained with the Chosen Squad, left for several years, then returned as part of the Pine Guard. His powers are mainly strength and being hard to kill, and his day job is a park ranger in the nearby national forest. 

None of this tells Indrid what he needs to know. None of this helps him understand what makes his nemesis tick. 

It does, however, tell him exactly where the Knight spends most of his time. 

“Very well” He clicks off the screen, smiling at his darkened reflection, “Duck Newton, it is time you and I got much better acquainted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is now art for this chapter that is utterly amazing! https://thiswasinevitableid.tumblr.com/post/622838075184300032/ashsanchezart-i-had-the-pleasure-of-doing-an-art


	3. My Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Indrid Cold does his best to discover the inner workings of his nemesis. Duck gives a tour. Aubrey stands proud. Indrid does some bird-watching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content note: Duck runs across some neo-Nazis who are planning to explode something at a Pride parade. No slurs are used.

“Now, here’s a little bonus question as we finish up: who can tell me our state bird?”

Several hands shoot up from the crowd of ten year olds, all seated in a semi-circle in the outdoor amphitheater. 

“Let’s see, uhhh, you, yep, up front in the Tony Hawk shirt. Good choice, by the way.”

“Cardinal!”

“That’s right, good ol' Cardinalis cardinalis. Okay, thank y’all for comin’, hope ya learned somethin.”

“Can everyone say thank you to Ranger Newton?” The camp counselor chirps.

“Thank you Ranger Newton.” Comes the chorus of replies. Duck smiles, warmly, tips his hat as the kids scurry back to the bus. 

The drawl is more pronounced when he’s like this, but beyond that Indrid, staked out in various trees, has learned very little.

No, that’s not entirely accurate. 

He’s learned that Duck Newton’s job involves a great deal of examining plants and writing things down about them (two hours, he had to track the man from tree grove to tree grove without being detected for _two hours_ ), that he’s always happy to answer questions from the myriad of tourists stumbling about, and that he hosts rather popular talks for summer camps and schools. 

But he is no closer to determining why a man with the strength of a god and no small amount of intelligence has chosen to spend his life this way. He could be ruling over the entire city. Why does he pass his days worrying about trees?

Indrid will just have to come back tomorrow for a more detailed investigation. 

The next morning, he pulls on worn, soft jeans, a white tank top, and a grey cardigan. Programs his glasses to be a normal shape and tint. Watching from a distance in his camouflage is not enough, so he’ll need to look like an average park visitor in order to get closer. He contemplates his favorite sweater, but decides against it; there’s looking like a normal human and then there’s wearing something so brightly colored everyone will give him a second glance. 

Arriving at the park just after opening, sketchbook tucked under his arm, he slips into the visitors center, where Duck is on desk duty, helping visitors. Not wanting to get too close while he eavesdrops, Indrid makes a circuit of the small exhibit hall, stopping to read each informational sign. 

“You got any questions?”

He turns, takes a moment to place the woman speaking to him. Ah, yes, Juno Divine; coworker and trusted friend of Duck Newton. 

“No, thank you. I am simply enjoying learning about the forest.”

“Clearly, since you circled through twice.” She smiles. 

“Oh, ah, I can sometimes get a bit distracted. This space is just so conducive to thought.”

“Glad you think so. Well, if you got any questions, I’ll be cyclin' through here, and Duck’ll be at the desk until noon.”

“What happens at noon?”

“Nature walk, down to Teal Pond. Folks meet out front at five til, and it’s real interestin.”

“It certainly sounds that way.” He murmurs.

At ten minutes to noon, he finds a bench near the pond boardwalk and sits down. Pulls out his sketchbook and draws to pass the time. Were someone to look over his shoulder, they would see what looked like a series of unrelated mazes. It is, in reality, the vent layout to the Cormick Diamond Companies Headquarters. 

Soon, there’s a gentle thrum of voices as the tour group comes down the path, Duck at the front. When he speaks, it’s hushed. 

“If folks’ll keep quiet, we might get a real treat. We got a Sandhill Crane that likes that patch of reeds, and she’s been know to pop her head up when I come by.”

The crowd goes silent, Duck moving carefully up the boardwalk. No wonder he’s been able to approach Indrid silently; he’s barely making a sound, even in his hiking boots. 

“Aha!” Duck gives a triumphant whispers, “there she is!”

A narrow, avian head on a long neck rises from the reeds and freezes, regarding the crowd, who are busy taking pictures on their phones. 

“Ain’t she somethin?” Duck says with a smile, the words not directed anywhere in particular. 

The crane sinks back down, returning to it’s hunting. Indrid lets out his breath, surprised by his own awe. 

“C’mon now, we’re gonna take a spin around the pond. Keep an eye out for turtles and frogs.” The group moves along the boardwalk, Indrid listening carefully as Duck continues talking. He’ll have to get up before the group finishes their circuit, as he can’t risk Duck getting too close. Reluctantly, he shuts the sketchpad, and heads at a brisk but not suspiciously fast clip down the path. 

Maybe he should try a new tactic. This one is simply telling him that Duck Newton is capable and patient and, apparently, very knowledgeable about plants and animals. He already knew two of those things. His time will be better spent elsewhere. 

He comes back almost every day for the next two weeks. 

Sometimes he passes his time between observations by sketching out plots and schemes, others in drawing the wildlife, as pastime he enjoys but has seldom indulged in. 

In that time, Duck talks about all manner of wildlife, answers questions, does cataloging of species and checks on trees, writes reports and shoots the breeze with Juno. Never uses his powers (except to move a tree trunk when no one was lookin), never blusters or intimidates like the other strength-based heroes Indrid has encountered before. And he never seems to notice Indrid beyond registering that he is a person sitting on a bench. 

Today, they’re at a larger pond, and as Duck talks about why clean water is important to amphibians, Indrid concentrates on drawing one of the nearby ducks (he’s been drawing them a lot lately). It’s a kind he’s never seen before, and he wants to know the name. Surely one of the tour members will ask.

Duck wraps up, pauses for questions. One person asks about tadpoles, another about algae. 

Why is no one asking about the duck? 

He wants to know about the duck.

He _must_ know about the duck.

True, he could look it up in a book in the gift shop at the visitor center. Or on his glasses as soon as Duck is out of sight. But he wants to hear Duck explain it, talk to Indrid in that easy, friendly manner of his. 

The group turns, heading back to visitor center, and Indrid huffs, packing up his small bag of drawing supplies. 

He doesn’t look the duck up when he gets home.

\------------------------------------------------------

Duck stands in the midst of the crowd lining the main drag, the June air already turning warm. He’s wearing jeans and will probably regret it once the sun gets high in the sky, and his black tank top with a rainbow stripe across the middle. The strand of plastic, rainbow shaped beads were handed to him by an enthusiastic young man who was passing them out to anyone nearby. 

The float he’s waiting for rolls by, the crowd cheering so loud he wishes for earplugs. Up on the brightly colored platform sit Aubrey, Dani, and Barclay, in their superhero uniforms. Aubrey is proudly waving a Bi Pride flag, Dani is surrounded by flower arrangements for every pride flag under the sun, and Barclay has a trans pride striped shirt in place of his usual one. The cook usually hates this much attention, but Stern brought word a few months ago that there was a group of trans men in the city who, upon learning Bigfoot was one of them, created “The Bigfoot Boys,” a group dedicated to fighting for social justice with the hero as their inspiration. Barclay teared up when Stern showed him a photo, and takes his responsibility as a role model very seriously. 

Duck could be up there with them (truly, the entire team could), but after all these years he still feels weird being lauded for his hero work. 

Besides, he’s got a lot on his mind these days. Like how he’s fairly certain someone is keeping a close eye on him at work, but not at home, which suggests it’s not a villain. 

Like how the inner workings of a certain, insect-themed villain keep occupying his thoughts.

Like how, three days ago, the black rose appeared back in the botanical gardens. Attached to it was a note reading _Apologies_. The day before it reappeared, he gave a talk to students taking summer courses at the community college, explaining the different ways plants become genetically modified, including by humans, and the complexity that can involve. 

He waves at his friends on the float, Aubrey noticing and winking his way. Then he pushes to the back of the crowd and starts walking home. Deciding to avoid the throngs, he opts for a shortcut through some alleys. 

Taking a right, he stops and backtracks out of sight of the men unloading two cars of something ominous. 

“You sure this’ll work.”

“Uh uh, fucking freaks won’t know what hit them.”

He peers around the corner, counts four guys in total. They all have tidy hair and the appearance of people who match the status quo of respectability so well, everyone is shocked when they do something terrible. He also counts no fewer than four neo-Nazi symbols between them.

“The remote detonator will work, right?”

“Should, fuck dude be careful with that, we’re not trying to blow ourselves up.”

Duck steps around the corner, arms crossed, “You ain’t blowin anyone up, fellas.”

The man closest to him snorts, “what, you’re gonna stop us?”

“Yep. If you come quiet, it’ll be better for everyone.”

The quartet laughs, one pulling a knife and another clearly carrying a handgun. He doesn’t have time to change, and he doesn’t want to draw Beacon. Even if these fuckers want him dead, Duck’s not about to bend his own code for them by cutting them in half. 

He takes a fight stance. They laugh louder, and the tallest one snaps. 

Four more men emerge from the second car. 

“This is gonna be fun.” One sneers. 

“You should do as he says.” A new voice comes from behind Duck. He flicks a gaze over his shoulder; the man is tall, with messily dyed hair pulled up into a half bun, poorly tinted sunglasses perched on his nose, a white tank-top hanging over grey yoga pants. 

“Back off now, or we break your head in too, you fucking-”

Whatever slur was meant to follow never makes it out, the stranger lightening quick, slamming the other man into the wall. The next closest lunges, knife out, but Duck grabs him and hurls him to the ground. He spins, landing back to back with the stranger. 

Five of the remaining six rush them all at once. Duck catches one of the chin, sending him down for the count, slams a second in the kidney so he joins his friends on the ground. The third is bigger, tackles him and grapples as they fall. 

His new partner ducks just as each of his attackers swing, causing them to punch each other. As he comes up, he strikes them each twice, once in the stomach and once in their throats. The duo crumple into a heap as Duck manages to pin the one who tackled him. 

There’s a click of a hammer cocking, followed by a crunching snap and a shrill scream of pain. 

He turns, finds the stranger with one hand on the remaining man’s neck and the other having snapped the guy’s wrist at a ninety-degree angle. 

Judging by their relative positions and the rough trajectory of the falling gun, the stranger just saved him from being shot.

“Fuck, oh fuck man, is that bone? Fuck, fuck I’m sorry, I’ll, I’ll do what you want-” the man is blubbering, but the stranger doesn’t release him.

“What I want is for you to _suffer_ you worthless creature. And if you ever try this again, I will repeat this process” he twists the wrist and the man screams, “with every bone in your body.”

With that, he drops the sniveling man to the cement. Duck’s hand is already on his communicator, calling for an ambulance and the cops. 

“Thanks, uh, thanks for helpin me out. I ain’t a bad fighter, but eight on one ain’t a fair fight, even for me, and I sure as hell wasn’t gonna let them blow innocent folks sky-high.”

“Of course.” The stranger doesn’t look at him. Sirens wail nearby and Duck turns to see flashing lights. 

When he turns back, the man is gone. That confirms it, the hunch he’s had, the thing he suspected when he heard that voice behind him, even though the speaker tried to hide it's unique sound, and was near-certain of when he watched the other man fight.

Indrid Cold has been stalking him.

Indrid Cold may have just saved his life.

And he has to find out why.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

He’s at an offsite conference all of Monday, and Tuesday there’s no prickle in his skin telling him he’s being watched. 

Wednesday, he feels it during his morning nature walk. Scanning the crowd as he talks, a figure in his periphery comes into focus; a tall, angular man, with faintly tinted wire-rim glasses and a sketchpad, sitting on a bench. He looks perfectly ordinary. No wonder Duck didn’t give him a second look. He assumed anyone tracking him would stay in the trees, not where he might see them.

After wrapping up the tour, he steps into his small office and opens the secret drawer on his desk. In it sits one of his BUGs, and he plugs in the instructions of who to follow. Off it buzzes, and he pulls up the controls on his phone. 

It doesn’t take long for a video feed to show Cold, walking along one of the less-traveled paths, drawing. 

Duck changes as fast as he can, knowing the station and the forest well enough to avoid being seen. 

Strangely, Cold doesn’t look up from his drawing until Duck is directly behind him. Then he turns grinning. 

“Hello, chivalrous one _oof_.” His back slams into a nearby tree trunk, the sketchpad hitting the leaf litter. 

“I got two questions, and you better fuckin answer ‘em.” In spite of Cold not struggling, Duck tightens his grip on his shirt as he keeps him pinned. 

“You have my attention.”

“Why the fuck are you stalkin me?”

“I’m not.”

“Like hell you ain’t! What, tryin to scope out who my friends are? Where my family is? Tryin to figure out what poor person or place to wreck to get to me?” He growls.

“No.” Indrid says calmly. 

“You expectin’ me to believe that wasn’t you at Pride?”

“I never said that. That was, in fact, me. I know the disguise was rather haphazard. Not my best work.”

“Why did you help me, Cold?”

The Moth stays silent.

“Just itchin for some trouble and didn't care how it happened? Needed your fix of hurtin folks?”

“No” Indrid snarls. 

“Then why” he presses forward, “not make your life easier let those fuckers get rid of me?”

Cold’s hands fly up, one trying to push Duck back while the other yanks his head forward by the collar of his uniform. 

“Because you are _my_ nemesis, Duck Newton. Mine to know, mine to fight, mine to defeat. _Mine_.”

“Like hell I am.” Duck is close enough now that they’re nose to nose and he can see every emotion traveling through Cold’s eyes, “You ain’t special, Cold. You my be clever and slippery and think you’re fuckin' slick, but you’re still just another fuckin' crook. There ain’t nothin' remarkable about you.”

“You take that back” the Moth hisses, “you are as intrigued by me as I am by you. As protective too. You never let another hero come after me; day after day, fight after fight, it is always you. You may say I am nothing to you, but you are lying.”

“You're forgettin' somethin’ Cold. I can’t lie for shit.”

The Moth stares at him searchingly, then slowly releases his hold.

“Stay the fuck out of my forest, Cold. Stay away from the things I love, or you’re gonna find out you ain’t the only one willin' to break bones.”

With that, he shoves the villain away and storms off through the trees. 

It’s only when he’s out of sight that the taller man kneels down, retrieving his sketchbook and resting it against his chest. 

“Very well, Duck Newton. You have seen the last of Indrid Cold. But you certainly have not seen the last of The Moth."


	4. Who Are You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duck tries to keep a certain villain from getting under his skin. Indrid makes a phone call. Duck makes a discovery. Aubrey plans a date.

The next time they meet, it ends with Indrid successfully making off with some of the most precious diamonds in the country, reminding Duck that The Moth had no intention of leaving peacfully. But not until Duck accidentally proves Indrid’s point, going straight for him before anyone else has a chance to strike. Said strike resulted in a bad whip mark on Indrid’s shoulder, but that was a minor trouble at best (and hurt less than the fact Duck barely spoke to him, a reality Indrid is doing his best to ignore).

Tonight, he’s having a different kind of trouble. 

He’s bored.

None of the museums have anything worth stealing, he’s sold off everything he had interest in selling, and no “ooh look at us we’re so patriotic and heroic” parades need interrupting. There aren’t even any good movies playing. 

In theory, being bored ought to spur him to create new, brilliant schemes. But mostly it’s just making him antsy. It gives his future vision too much time to show him all the things he could be stopping were he not made for evil (or at least avarice), or all the disasters that might be barreling towards him. 

He picks up his phone. Maybe he can play that moth collecting game he downloaded and calm himself. They’re putting out rare, summer moths soon.

When he unlocks the phone, it brings up his notes on Duck. He’s ready to close the file when he remembers something. 

Along with his true name, profession, address, and other pertinent information, Indrid happens to have Duck’s phone number. 

Maybe he should call him, banter a bit, and remind the Knight that he’s no common criminal, but a force to be reckoned with. 

Maybe he could ask him about that duck. 

Still, calling him at random may tip from super-villain creepy to simply creepy-creepy. A line he was dancing perilously close to with the Green Knight already. 

Besides, maybe he’s interrupting something if he calls. Duck could be having dinner, or be on a date, or with his family. Indrid may be a villain, but he has some manners. 

He glances at the futures; no, it appears the Green Knight shares his predicament, if the visions of him refreshing the same three apps on his phone is any indication. 

Indrid dials the number, only waits two rings before getting an answer.

“Go for Duck.”

“Hello, my chivalrous friend.” 

“ _Cold_.” The drawl turns to a growl, “how the fuck did you get this number?”

“The same way I got your name. And that’s a trade secret.”

“What the fuck do you want?” 

“Blunt as always.”

“Stop stallin.”

“Ah, well….nothing?”

He looks at the futures, watches confusion move across Duck Newton’s face before he settles into suspicion.

“Is this some new mind game? Tryin’ to lean into all that shit about havin some fuckin claim to me?”

“No. I, I am bored and-

“Bored? Am I some kind of fuckin amusement to you? You think you got some kind of goddamn right to my time?”

“No! I, I am sorry about how that all came out, alright? I,” he scans for the right thing to say, goodness this was a terrible idea why didn’t he see it coming, “It’s just, I like talking with you.”

“Uh huh, sure, and hell just froze over. Hang up and don’t call here again, I’m real busy.”

“Oh?” Indrid reclines on his couch, arms crossed “doing what?”

“Uh, playin, uh, fuck, table-games, with, fuck, my, fr-, fuck.”

“Duck, I told you the truth just now. Please do me the same courtesy.”

“Fine.” Duck grumbles, “I’m messin around on my phone. Happy?”

“Yes.”

Silence, filling the room and the cell signal. 

“Well? You were the one who wanted to talk.”

“Ah, right, yes. Do you...have pets?”

“That’s your opener?”

“This is normal small talk!”

“Can’t you just tell usin whatever weird powers you got?”

“Technically, yes. But well,” he shifts uncomfortably, tugs a blanket across his legs, “I do not like using them to spy on people any more than is needed for my own safety and informational purposes. It feels invasive. Even obnoxious heroes deserve privacy.”

In all but one future, Duck hangs up on him. 

There’s a pause, static crackles down the line, then, in a softer tone than before comes “I got a cat.”

“What kind?” 

“Sphinx. We busted a pet mill two years ago. I’m talkin real bad shit, animals gettin clipped and chopped and shit just to look like ‘purebreds,’ guy sellin’ em off for dog fights and whatever the fuck else. We cleared the whole place, were helpin animal control out, and I heard meowin. Under the dumpster in the warehouse was this little hairless kitten. Coaxed her out, she was scared of everythin’ so we nicknamed her Chicken. Name stuck to her, and she stuck to me.”

Indrid’s glasses show him an example of the cat breed, “My, that is not usually what people seek out in a cat. I thought people preferred them to be fluffy.”

“Plenty do, but I wouldn’t trade her for anythin. Ain’t that right girl?” Duck clicks his tongue, and there’s a faint meow in the background. 

“You, uh, got any pets?”

“No.” He had a pet rat once. It ended badly. It wasn’t the poor thing’s fault. It wasn’t Indrid’s fault either, not really. Just his punishment.

Oh, Duck hasn’t said anything else. He should keep things going. The Knight is actually talking to him without threats, without tension.

“So……Any fun plans this weekend?”

“That sounds like a trap.” Duck’s voice hardens again.

“True. How about I go first?”

“O-kay.” Duck still sounds suspicious. 

“They do those, ah, First Fridays downtown, and I find it fun to see all the new art. Plus there’s a little gelato shop that makes a honey-strawberry mix I adore. Then again, I might stay home. Ned is hosting a marathon of Saturday Night Dead, and I like making a big bowl of popcorn and M&Ms and watching it.” Good gracious, he is _babbling_.

“Damn, haven’t had that combo in awhile. Don’t get out to the movies much.”

“They have these remarkable things called grocery stores.”

Duck chuckles, “Yeah, and they got these things colors but that don’t stop youfrom dressin like Johnny Cash.”

“Touche. But I will have you know I am wearing pink as we speak. Yellow as well.” Indrid grins with mock huffiness. 

“Bigger question is: you ever put peanuts in coke?”

“Why in the world would I ruin a drink in that way?”

“It tastes good."

“Next you’ll be telling me to put skittles in my coffee–hmm, actually…”

“Ughck.”

He looks at the futures, finds Duck flopping down on his bed as he continues talking, “Hmm, alright, what's the oddest thing you ever ate?”

“I once poured caramel syrup onto corned beef hash.”

“Gah, Jesus, why?”

“I was at an IHOP, it was very late, I had not slept in three days, and I thought it was ketchup. How about you?”

“Rocky Mountain Oysters.”

“Oysters are a touch odd, I suppose.”

“You don’t know what they are, do you?”

“.......no.”

“Bull testicles, fried.” 

“Yeech!”

Duck guffaws on the other end, the sound setting off unexpected delight in Indrid’s chest.

“Well, now I demand to know exactly why you stuck such an abomination in your mouth.”

“I was roadtrippin durin’ college with a friend, said she’d give me ten bucks if I ate one.”

“That sounds like a relatively fair exchange. Did you travel much in your younger days?”

“Yeah, had this wild idea I was gonna see all the National Parks in one summer. Y’know, drive the open road, eat at diners and truck stops and hook up with cute guys in the back of my car. Real young and free shit.”

“What was it like?”

To his surprise, Duck tells him. He tells him about winding roads, about mountains and valleys, campsites and mishaps with squirrels. At some point he rolls onto his side, shuts his eyes, pictures each scene as Duck describes it to him. 

Eventually, Duck yawns. Indrid yawns back, notes the clock telling him it’s nearly midnight.

“Guess we both oughta get some rest. Can’t believe I’m sayin this, but I had a real nice time talkin with you.”

He can’t go. Indrid doesn’t want him to go just yet.

“Wait, ah, there is one other thing I want to ask you.” He sense Duck’s suspicion reigniting, and adds, “it is about one of the animals in the park. A duck. I, ah, I was wondering if you could tell me what kind it was.”

A chuckle, he swears he hears a chuckle before Duck asks, “what did it look like?”

“It was about the same size as the other ducks, but much more colorful. It had green on it’s head and, actually, one moment.” He sets the phone down, flipping through his sketchpads and praying he didn’t throw it away on accident. When he finds the drawing, he takes a snapshot of it and sends it to Duck.

“Oh! Wood Duck, a male one. There’s a matin’ pair on that lake.”

“Wood Duck” Indrid repeats. More softly than he means to he says, “thank you.”

“You’re uh, you’re welcome. Real nice drawin by the way, can’t believe you got the pattern on ‘im to look so damn life-like.”

“It is one of my less nefarious talents. I should let you go. I very much enjoyed talking with you. You are a pleasant man when not throwing punches my way.”

(That he sometimes enjoys the parts with the punches is a secret he will keep until the heat death of the universe).

“Perhaps we can talk again sometime?”

“Sure. Might be in person though.”

“Excuse-”

Oh damn it all. 

“I’m a superhero. Did you really think I wouldn’t have a way to track your location on my phone?”

“But I have mine set to read out different location coordinates every thirty seconds.”

“Neat trick too. But I ain’t survived in the hero game this long just because of my good looks and upper body strength. See you soon.”

The call ends. Indrid blinks, staring out the window, more than a bit puzzled by his own logic. He’s lead an enemy right to his doorstep and will likely have to abandon yet another hideout. All for a few hours of conversation with the Knight.

“Was that really worth it?” He asks his reflection.

His reflection nods.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It takes Duck two days to relay the coordinates to the rest of the Pine Guard. In those two days, he goes in circle after circle, makes himself dizzy deciding whether to share them at all. Cold hadn’t done anything. There was no plot to thwart, no scheme to uncover. 

The villain had just been a lonely weirdo on a Tuesday night. That wasn’t a crime. 

But Cold is a dangerous man, a man out for himself and no one else, the kind of man who gets people hurt, who still has all the information needed to harm the people Duck loves most in the world. So he told the others about the call. All his hemming and hawing turned out to be moot, because by the time they arrived The Moth had flown off, leaving behind an abandoned top floor apartment.

Duck is annoyed with himself more than the villain. Duck didn’t need to stay on the call that long. Even five minutes would have done it. He spent an hour and a half on the phone with his nemesis for the hell of it.

No, Cold is _not_ his nemesis. He’s just another villain, albeit one Duck finds extra aggravating. But not at all intriguing, not at all special. 

Which is why he’s down in the base early on a Saturday morning, The Moth’s profile up on his monitor, trying to make sense of the man. 

He’s been editing the guesses about Cold’s abilities down, removing “time manipulation” as a possibility based on his interactions with the villain. There’s a temptation to add “social skills” under “weaknesses.”

Except, for all the awkwardness, he really had liked talking to him. The way he eagerly listened to him, asked him things. It was almost sweet. 

The elevator dings just as absentmindedly knocks his waterbottle to the floor, and he kneels down to pick it up.

Two distinct laughs fill the room. One he recognizes as Barclay’s usual rumble. The other is new.

“I suspect there are pens and paper upstairs to write down that recipe.”

Stern? He stays down, feeling like his sudden appearance might make this worse. 

“Yeah, but there’s privacy down here.”

“Are you still afraid of us being seen together?”

“Just trying to spare us both extra headache, Joe.”

He’s never heard Stern addressed as that before. 

“I know, it’s just thatmphmmmmmm” the agent is cut off as Duck watches two pairs of shoes stumble across the floor, Barclay’s boots eventually bumping into the side of a desk.

Okay, maybe he can army crawl to the vehicle bay while they’re distracted, because no way in hell is he standing up now. 

There’s a gasp, and the dress shoes stumble back. 

“I’m, I’m so sorry-”

“No, nono, it’s okay-”

“That was very inappropriate of me-”

“I kissed you first.”

“I kissed you back! I’m practically your superior Barclay I, I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Joe, wait.”

Stern is gone before Barclay can say anything else. 

The cook sighs, “I know you’re over there Duck.”

He stands, smiling awkwardly, “Uh, what gave it away?”

“Your deodorant. You’re the only one of us who uses Old Spice. Didn’t think anyone would be down here this early.” Barclay turns, and Duck realizes he never switched off his screen.

“Trying to figure out where his new hideout is?” Barclay walks over, slower than usual.

“No. More just tryin to figure out what makes the guy tick. Leo always says that if you can get inside a villains mind and know why they do what they do, you got a better chance of stoppin them. Even bringin’ them over to our side.”

“Is that why you’ve looked at his file so much?”

“I ain’t looked at it that often.”

Barclay taps his screen, brings up the file register, “According to this, his file has been accessed forty times over the last month. Thirty-one of those times, you’re the one who opened it.”

“Jesus.” 

“I think trying to bring him over is a noble idea Duck. Just, try not to let him get into your head, okay? It’s hard enough when someone on our side does that. Trust me.” He gazes at the elevator like a six foot, five inch, kicked puppy. 

Duck pats his shoulder, “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

“We both know that’s not all that safe.”

“Yeah, sorry, was just tryin to make you feel better.”

“I appreciate the effort man.”

“Anytime.”

\-------------------------------------------------------

“Ooooh this is gonna be so fun!” Aubrey claps her hands together excitedly as she and her mom head down the steps to Mama’s truck, the two of them having convinced their friend to come on a girls day out.

“I’ll have you know Aubrey, you’re the only person in the world who could get me to agree to a spa day. I ain’t even sure what it’s gonna entail.”

“In Aubrey’s case, usually a mud wrap. Or a couples massage if Dani ends up making it. In mine, definitely nails.” Lydia Little wiggles her fingers, “you might wanna do a Swedish massage, Mama. I can see the knots in your neck from here.”

“Comes with keepin this one outta trouble.” Mama smirks and Aubrey sticks out her tongue, “Yeah, you’re right. This gal holds her own just fine. It’s the boys who need a competent woman to bail their asses out.”

“That’s my girl.” Lydia hugs her daughter proudly.

“C’mon now, everyone in.”

Mama turns them towards one of the strip malls near the suburbs, Aubrey asking both women for their advice on how to surprise Dani for their one year anniversary. They’re midway through speculating whether a picnic or a fancy dinner worked better when a new song drifts across the radio.

 _Almost heaven, West Virginia  
Blueridge Mountains, Shenandoah River_

“You okay Mama?” 

The older woman’s gaze moves from far off back to Aubrey with a tight smile, “Yeah, kiddo. I’m fine. Song always reminds me of Thacker, is all.”

“I’m sorry, Madeline.” Lydia squeezes her hand. 

“Wish we knew what happened to him.” Aubrey adds.

“You and me both.”

The road beneath them shakes. Up ahead, a signal crashes into the intersection, and Mama slams on the brakes. 

“What the fuck?” Aubrey points out the window, where a strange, dark cloud is swirling over the harbor. There’s another shudder, and shrieks of fear from the streets. 

Mama groans, then shakes out her shoulders and steps from the car, “Suit up Aubrey, looks like our day out’s gonna have to wait.”

\------------------------------------------------------

“Bigfoot, little help!” Duck holds the jaws of the Extermigator open, while the villain spits difficult to discern curses at him. 

“Working on it!” Barclay tries yet again to get cuffs onto Cold, who is thrashing in his grip.

“I told you this warehouse was a trap, you scale-brained lunk!” Cold frees one hand long enough to land a blow on Barclay’s solarplexus. He drops The Moth with a gasp of pain.

“I suppose I ought to knock you out all the way, but-”

A crack of thunder above them, the ground shaking so hard it might split. 

“Let the gator go, Knight. We all need to leave. Now.”

“Why the fuck would I believe-”

Another shake and the roof cracks, debris raining down on them.

“Bigfoot, get back to the HoverCat! You” he turns to Extermigator, “scram!” He releases the villain, who wastes no time charging out the door and down the nearest manhole. 

“Bit cliche there.”

“Agreed.” Cold grins at him, then his face pales. 

“Wh-AHfuck!” Duck hits the ground, skidding from the force of The Moth tackling him. He flips them over immediately, the villain trapped beneath him.

“You really wanna keep this dance goin’?” He growls. 

_Crash_

The spot where Duck was standing seconds earlier is now covered by a massive steel beam.

Cold looks up to see the result, then his head flops back in relief. 

“Thank goodness.”

“C’mon.” Duck pulls the villain out of the building after him and, in the haze of dust and swirling wind, runs smack into Barclay.

“This is bad.”

Duck follows his gaze. Red light fills the dark clouds, gradually becoming a masked face.

“Citizens of Kepopolis, I am The Quell!" A multi-voiced boom declares. 

“I thought she was in stasis somewhere!”

“Me too.” Duck glances at Cold, who is looking up with the same amount of fear as him. 

“You stole her from me, you destroyed the hero Sylvain. I have slept long, I have been buried, but I have not forgotten.”

“Sylvain…” Cold whispers, wings deploying.

“If you have her, if you know where they have taken her, you have until the equinox to return her to me. And if she is dead...if she is dead there is no hope for any of you. Your heroes will not save you. There will be war not only on your pathetic city, but on the world..”

The face dissipates, and the clouds fade back into mist. 

“Ain’t Sylvain been dead for decades?”

“Yep.” Says Barclay at the same moment Indrid says, “I believe so.” 

“Well....fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided it'd be fun to switch out which of Aubrey's parents survived.


	5. Cold, Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Indrid and Duck both face unbidden feelings about their nemesis. Duck has a dream. Indrid watches a movie. Mama is getting tired.

“Don’t let him get inside your head.”

Duck tried, he really did. And he’s able to not think about Cold for long stretches of his day (usually). His subconscious, however, is determined to let The Moth launch a complete and utter takeover. 

This dream is happening because, as he fell asleep, he was running through his last encounter with Cold, cataloguing the villain’s weak spots. He’s sure of it. 

_They’re in the shipping warehouse, Cold taunting him as usual as he flits out of range and dodges any move Duck throws._

_“You are getting sloppy, Knight.”_

_“Fuck you.” Duck fakes a body blow and when Cold jumps out of the way he’s ready, grabbing him by the legs and yanking him back to earth. The villain hisses in frustration, scrambling up and away from where Duck has him pinned, only to find Duck’s backed him into a wall._

_He whirls, Duck trapping him against the wall by his forearms._

_“It seems you have gotten the better of me.” He pants, grinning._

_“Yeah.”_

_Cold’s head darts forward, kissing him, lips and tongue dragging down Duck’s throat when he’s done._

_“That really how you wanna play this?”_

_“Yes.” Hunger fills the eyes behind those red lenses._

_Duck releases Cold’s arms, hooks his hands under his thighs and lifts him off the ground. Wiry legs wrap around his hips as Cold throws his arms around him with an amused laugh._

_“This what you wanted? This what all that doggin’ me’s been for?” Duck growls, kissing him before allowing him a chance to answer._

_“Oh yes.” Cold purrs, the scene warping around them in that strange logic of dreams, the same logic that renders them suddenly undressed, Cold’s head thrown back against the wall as Duck collars his throat with bruises, teeth digging into tan skin, the villain whimpering and pleading as Duck fucks him so hard the wall behind them splits._

He wakes up sometime later, groggy and groaning at the stickiness in his sheets. What the fuck was that all about?

“Must be gettin my wires crossed.” Duck mumbles to Chicken, who glares at him for pulling the sheets and blankets out from beneath her. 

Dreaming about an enemy happens, he’s heard about it from other heroes. He just has to keep himself from reading too much into it. It was only a dream, it doesn’t tell him anything other than this mind does weird shit when it’s asleep. He repeats variations on that thought to himself while tossing a new sheet on the bed and resting his head on the pillows. 

Still, it begs the question; if his dreams are that buckwild and aggressive, what kind of dreams does The Moth have about him?  
\-----------------------------------------------------------

Indrid Cold is a supervillain, a force to be reckoned with, a man whose mind is always churning with thoughts and visions for his next, nefarious doings. He is a man of brilliance. 

He is _not_ supposed to be sitting here, weepy-eyed, on his couch on Tuesday night.

After their conversation gave away his location, he assumed Duck would arrive at his hideout within twenty-four hours. That they’d banter, perhaps trade blows, before Indrid made his escape. 

Instead, he waited a full two days before receiving a vision of Duck arriving with the rest of the Pine Guard. That would not do, and so he took what he needed and set up his new residence in hideout number thirty-three.

Ever since the phone call, if Duck comes to thwart him he did so with at least one other hero present. The banter is nearly non-existent, and if there is more than one villain present Duck goes after them first. Their encounters no longer bring Indrid much pleasure. Now it’s all business. 

Which is why, during their last encounter, he deployed a smoke bomb specifically designed to render Duck’s powers useless for an hour. If the Knight wants to see him as no more than a villain, he can easily oblige him. 

Tonight is his night off, and he settled in with snacks and blankets to watch a movie. It’s the second film in a western series he enjoys. Unfortunately, it ends with a cliffhanger, the sheriff and his outlaw beloved saying a tearful goodbye before parting ways. Worse, the third part won’t be out until December. They could all be dead by December.

He could research the studio, flit off to Los Angeles and steal the third film for himself, make a nice little evening of a private screening.

Or he could roll over, hugging his round, squishy mothman pillow, and feel sorry for himself. 

He rolls over, face pressing into soft fabric.

Everything will be alright. In the movie, he means. The heroes will be reunited, the once-villainous one of the pair will be redeemed, and they will live happily ever after. 

That must be nice.

It would be nice.

Nice to have someone kind and brave in love with him, someone who would see him as his whole self, hold him tight and touch him. Hug him when he does silly things like watch sad movies and upset himself.

When was the last time someone hugged him? Or touched him at all, for that matter? As he thinks, his mind supplies only “Duck” as an answer. It’s true, the hero touches him often enough when they fight, trying to use his strength hinder Indrid’s agility. The other heroes occasionally get a hold of him, but his skin doesn’t tingle beneath his clothing afterwards, the way it does with Duck.

Duck probably gives amazing hugs. 

Indrid wants Duck to hug him. 

No, absolutely not, he is not going down that mental path again. It will just make him frustrated at all the wrong things. 

Instead, he picks up his communication pad. If there was ever a time to break his Tuesday rule, this is it.

_The Moth: The Richardsons are hosting a lavish. Anyone care to crash it? Might be some nice jewels worth stealing._

_The Gent: You git, they tapped this channel remember? Right after that botched job at the gala_

He groans, whacks his forehead with the pad. Yes, of course, he knew that. He was the one who saw the tap coming. How is he getting so careless? Is he losing his touch? 

“That settles it.” He says to the empty living room. Holding his head high, he strides into the bedroom, wall of gadgets and disguises glinting with promise in the dark. 

Then he bellyflops onto the bed, intending to stay there until--god willing--the weekend.  
—————————————————–  
“I’m tellin you, I don’t think he’s actually gonna try anythin’.”

“Duck” Mama says on the other line, “he was tryin to recruit more of The Rogues Gallery to help him. What part of that says ‘not plannin anythin?”

Duck, already half in his hero get-up (he started as soon as Mama’s name showed on his communicator), shrugs, “He don’t work on Tuesdays.”

“....What?”

“Tuesdays are his night off. He told me so. Said it was important to have work/life balance.”

“And you believe him?” Mama sounds exasperated.

“Bring up his file and see for yourself.”

After a moment, Mama’s voice comes back, “I’ll be damned. No Tuesdays.”

“See?”

“All the same, I think you better track him down. If it turns out he broke his pattern, we’re gonna be in big fuckin trouble for ignorin his message to the others.”

Duck groans, reaches for his mask, “You got a point. I’m on it. Knight out.”

It doesn’t take him long to track Cold’s new location, which is why he’s now standing in the entryway of the apartment, alarm system blaring. He tenses, ready to run or dodge, but no booby traps activate. There’s no sign of The Moth, either. 

There’s a faint groan from the room at the end of the hallway. A silhouette sits halfway up in a bed, jabbing a control pad angrily until the alarms stop. Then it drops back down. 

This has all the marks of a trap, except for a bad feeling in his gut.

He makes it to the room with no issues. Cold is on his side on a large, black bed, his back to Duck. His civilian clothes, a white tank-top and grey pajama pants, are rumpled. He’s cuddling a pillow, face buried in it, and doesn’t react when Duck steps closer.

“Cold?”

“Go’way.” 

“You threatened to rob the D.A’s party. I’m not goin’ anywhere. Plus, I’m still kinda pissed about that gas you used on me last time. I had a cough for a week after.”

“Oh dear, that was the least likely outcome. My apolog-” Cold stops talking when Duck uses his SmartWhip to tie him up from a distance. The villain glowers over his shoulder, then sighs and rests his head back on the bed.

“C’mon, you ain’t even gonna try to get free?”

Cold rolls halfheartedly, over and over, until he falls off the bed, disappearing from view. 

Duck circles the foot of the bed, ready to settle into their usual rhythm. Cold will have gotten out of the rope, be ready to spring, quip on his lips, as soon as Duck sees him…

….Or he could be still tied up, laying on the floor and staring at nothing. 

Okay, apparently he’s captured The Moth for real.

“Off the floor, let’s go.”

“No.”

“Cold.” He crosses his arms.

“What part of ‘go away’ was unclear?”

“Oh for fucks sake.” He bends down, hoisting him easily into a standing position, arms around him to steady him as he gets his balance. 

Cold stiffens, bracing for a roughness Duck has zero interest in showing. Then he sighs, so softly that Duck might have imagined it. 

Duck wraps him in his arms more firmly, draws a hand across Indrid’s back, checking to be sure the whip is still secure.

The same noise, so quick it’s almost a chirp, leaves the villain.

“Cold?” He doesn’t move his arms, inhales sharply when the villain drops his forehead to his shoulder, hiding his face against his neck, “You, uh, you okay there bud?”

“No.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“I watched a sad movie. Now I am sad as a result. You can either leave me to my shame, or take me to your hideout that I can easily escape from.”

Duck touches the whip with the needed pressure to unlock it and the rope drops to the ground. Cold stays huddled against him. Then Duck unclips his mask, makes the other man step back so he can pull off the top half of his costume, leaving him in a white undershirt. 

When he opens his arms again, Cold pauses, no doubt contemplating if he ought to strike now. Then the villain turns away, embarrassed.

“This is absurd.”

“Nothin wrong with wantin a hug. ‘Specially not from me, I’m a hug master.” 

Cold sits down with a huff, rolling so his back is once again to Duck. A hunch paws at his mind, and he gets onto the bed, lays facing Indrid. Leaves space between them, but reaches out a hand and runs it along a strip of exposed skin, Cold’s shirt having ridden up when he moved. 

He shouldn’t be doing this. He should leave now.

The villain whimpers, not with pain but with longing, and so Duck scoots closer, keeps stroking his side. This time when he rolls over there’s no pause, no pretending. He presses as close to Duck as he can, hands knotted in his shirt and face hiding in his neck. 

He’s crying, soundlessly, the only tell the drops hitting Duck’s skin. 

“Jesus, must’ve been some movie.”

A weak laugh, “It’s not even a tragedy. But regardless, I do not wish to talk about it.”

“Don’t have to talk at all if you don’t want. I can keep quiet too.”

“No, that’s ah, that’s not necessary. In fact, I would like very much to hear you talk more. About whatever you please. I lo-, ah, I am fond of your voice.”

“Okay” he’s searching for a safe topic when the man shivers. 

“You want a blanket or somethin?”

“There is a sweater on the back of my door. If you could bring me that, I would be grateful.”

Duck eases off the bed, nudges the door shut a ways to grab the sweater, further darkening the room. The sweater is bright pink and yellow, with a large moth on the back, and Cold slips it on with a sigh as Duck settles next to him. The villain hums as Duck lets him adjust his arms for optimal hugging formation, keeps his face positioned so his nose is brushing Duck’s neck, glasses frames poking his skin and warm breath sending occasional goosebumps skittering up his body.

It should bother him, how easy it is to hold Indrid like this. 

He notices the pillow by his head and can’t hide his smile as he pieces together the theme of the room.

“You’re really into Mothman, huh?”

“Yes. I, ah, well, I was very intrigued by the legend when I was a child. The concept of a creature who was so frightening and possessed potentially prophetic powers fascinated me. When the time came to design my villain persona, I drew inspiration from him.”

“Y’know, Point Pleasant ain’t all that far from where I grew up.”

“Really?” A spark of life re-emerges in Cold’s voice.

“Yep. I’m from Kepler, West Virginia, this little town in the middle of the NRQZ. And home to one of the prettiest damn forests you ever saw.”

“Were your parents, what’s the word, tree-huggers?”

“Not really. Hell, I was a little punk-ish burn-out who started goin to the woods to have someplace to smoke.”

The villain snickers, “My, my, who would have guessed the Green Knight had such disreputable origins.”

Duck chuckles, “Hush, Cold.”

“You...you can call me Indrid. If you want.” 

Duck hesitates, one hand idly playing with Cold’s hair, “Ain’t sure I’m ready for that. I, uh, can’t ever say why.”

“It is alright.” Cold smiles up at him, but that does little to distract from the disappointment in his voice. 

“If, uh, if you ever want to get your hands on some uh Mothman memorabilia, so to speak, lemme know. Bet my little collection of it is still in my folk’s basement.”

“I may just take you up on that.” The smile brightens a bit. Then, Cold cocks his head, “what was it like, growing up in Kepler?”

Duck tells him. He talks about the Monongahela, about skateboarding, about the time he rescued what he thought was a baby box turtle from being run over, only to raise it and discover it was a snapping turtle (“I was nine, wasn’t all that good at identifyin’ fauna”). About the time he and Juno broke the sheriff’s window playing street hockey, the way the Greenbriar River looks in the fall, lined with trees in every shade of orange, red, and yellow.

Even as he talks, even as Cold asks him oddly innocent questions, even as he finds the other man’s weight in his arms comforting, he worries. He worries about the next time they meet, what this might mean, what will happen if Cold is somehow using all this to corner him into a trap. 

(What he’ll dream about tonight).

But a bigger storm of feeling swirling in his chest dampens any sparks of worry. The ways Cold sighs contentedly and nestles closer to him, or the way he starts dropping off only to shake awake at look relieved to see Duck there, sending protective, terrifyingly sharp affection prickling across his skin. 

It’s two in the morning when the villain is finally sound asleep. Duck slips from the bed, tucks a blanket around those narrow shoulders, and grabs his mask and shirt from the floor. 

It would be silly to say goodbye to a man who can’t hear him. But he can’t bear to leave without saying something.

And so, as he stands at the edge of the bed, he reaches down to brush pale hair from where it’s tickling a pointed nose and whispers, “Goodnight. Indrid.”


	6. Flames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Pine Guard discusses how to stop The Quell while Duck and Indrid try to ignore their conflicting feelings for each other. Mama tells a story. Stern reveals a plan. Duck blows off steam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick content note: in Duck's fantasy, it can read at first as dubcon because Indrid is trapped. But it becomes clear that Indrid is very into what is happening.

“What exactly are we lookin at here, Agent Stern?” Mama surveys the various blue screens and lightmaps springing from Stern’s infopad. 

“This is a record of every contingency plan the government has in place if The Quell makes good on her threat.”

“Seein’ an awful lot of bunkers for the rich and powerful.” Duck mutters. 

“That’s just one problem of many. I’ve dug through everything we have on The Quell, her relationship to Sylvain, Sylvain’s death, their respective powers, everything and I am certain none of these plans will work.”

“Any of the supers in other towns know that?”

“No. Neither do my superiors, at least not yet.” 

“Why show us first?” Barclay asks from his position on the exact opposite side of the semi-circle from Stern.

“Because if The Quell attacks, she attacks here first. You all will bear the first and likely worst of it. You deserve to know just how little back-up you may have. That and” he flips to a new screen, “you’re the only ones who can tell me what really happened to Arlo Thacker.”

Everyone falls silent, turning to look at Mama.

“How much do you know?”

“That he was your partner, operating under the name The Wolf, when he disappeared. In some of your last communications with him before you lost contact, he said he had a lead in how to bring The Quell out of stasis safely.”

“Those were private communications.” Mama glares at the agent, who has the good sense to look ashamed.

“I am aware. But the Department has them on file all the same.”

“We ain’t got any more idea what happened to him than you do.”

“That isn’t exactly what I’m interested in, though if my investigation can help locate him, I’ll do everything in my power to make that happen. Why was he so willing to undertake a venture that dangerous?”

Mama settles against the table, not sitting on it but leaning heavily.

“Do you want me to tell it?” Barclay offers gently.

“Nah. Just gettin my thoughts in order. Arlo had been friends with Sylvain when she was younger. They never met in person, guess you could call ‘em pen pals. Most of y’all only know of Sylvain through stories, but those don’t do her justice. She was one of the most powerful heroes ever. The Quell was, or is, too. Arlo studied her, helped her put together a theory of how her powers could grow or change. He was real upset when we heard about the fire. Wanted to go see her body, pay his respects, but, well, you know the rest.”

“The Quell flew off the handle?” Aubrey fiddles nervously with a pin on her jacket. 

“That’s putting it mildly.” Barclay rests a hand on Mama’s shoulder, “Felt like the end of the world. She was convinced it was a set-up, that people conspired to kill Sylvain because they feared her power, and so she just let loose, tried to level the city. We did what we could, The Chosen did too, but it was only when the Department switched on that machine that she went into stasis, dropped right into a cave on the coast where she was hovering.”

“Jesus.” Whispers Dani.

“Arlo thought The Quell could be reasoned with. Thought she could be reminded of what she and Sylvain used to fight for. So he dropped off the map so no one could track him, knew that was the only way to get to her without being noticed. Never saw him again.” Mama sighs, stares up at the ceiling for a moment. 

“Thank you, Ms. Cobb, I know-”

The alarm cuts Stern off, and Barclay hurriedly brings up the map of the city. 

“Robbery in progress at the Museum of Modern art.”

“Don’t tell me” Duck groans.

“Yep, I’m betting it’s the Moth. And it is your night.”

“I’m on it. Aubrey, you mind comin as back-up in case he’s got company?”

“Roger dodger, let’s go bug hunting!”  
\-------------------------------------------------------------  
The bug hunt goes, in a word, badly. 

Cold is alone, but as soon as he spots them he chucks more of that god-awful gas into the air. Duck, unwilling to be thwarted by the same trick twice, makes a decent jump before it kicks in and gets hold of The Moths ankle. There’s a small, electrical shock to his wrist for his trouble. 

He tries again, and Cold simply flits an inch up at the last minute. They repeat this dance for a full minute before Duck realizes the villain is taunting him, stringing him along just to make him look ridiculous. When he finally remembers to use his SmartWhip, Cold is already flying away, prize in hand, laughing uproariously. 

The rest of the night is spent stewing in annoyance at his own rookie mistake and, by the time he gets home with a few hours to spare before work, he needs to let off some serious steam.  
\--------------------------------------------  
_The Moths wrists and ankles are each bound in a SmartWhip, the villain laying on his side in bed, twisting his limbs as he tries to free himself._

_When he hears Duck behind him, he freezes._

_“An unorthodox means of capture, chivalrous one.”_

_“Worked, didn’t it?” Duck removes Beacon, tossing the sword out the nearby door._

_“It did indeed. Which begs the question; has this satisfied your, ah, thirst for law and order?”_

_“Not yet.” Duck crawls onto the bed, laying beside him, lazily drawing his hand along Cold’s side._

_“No doubt now you shall cart me off to your headquarters and superiors.”_

_“Guess again.” His arm drapes across Cold’s sternum, pressing The Moth flush against him, “Nobody even knows I capture you. Nobody even knows where you are.”_

_“I see…” Cold purrs, wiggling against him._

_“Gonna let everybody assume you skipped town.”_

_“Yes” He sighs out as Duck undoes the front of those black pants._

_“Gonna keep you here, like this, for as long as I goddamn please.” His own pants now, easily opened with one hand._

_Cold moans at that, turning his head awkwardly, trying for a kiss._

_“And I’m gonna fuck this tight fuckin’ ass so much and so hard you’ll be raw and drippin’ for the rest of your life.”_

_Cold laughs, full of wicked anticipation, “Is this your idea of justice, my sweet?”_

_“Fuck justice.” He shoves in all at once, Cold arching and gasping in his arms, “and fuck you.”_

_“Yes, oh yes, please do.”_

Duck cums, eyes still shut tight as he envisions what it would feel like to finally have his enemy at his mercy that way. 

He comes down from the orgasm only for the guilt to smack him in the face. 

He can’t keep thinking about The Moth that way. What became a one time indulgence to let off his frustration after a defeat has become a habit, even as he stopped speaking to Cold or watching him more than was absolutely needed during battles. 

(He’s not going to think about the texts. He can’t. They raise too many complications). 

Now he realizes letting his mind run wild could be disastrous not only for him, but for the villain as well. Feeling attraction or--god help him-- affection for someone as dangerous as Indrid Cold could very easily compromise Duck’s ability to do his job, could get himself or someone else hurt. 

But he fears it could hurt Cold just as easily. What if Duck gains the upper hand in a fight and the fantasy kicks in, his superior strength making it all too easy to overpower Cold and force him to do something he didn’t want? Something he couldn’t escape? 

It’s becoming too great a risk. He’ll just keep putting more distance between himself and The Moth, and hope that the villain takes the hint and chooses a new nemesis.  
\-----------------------------------------------  
Indrid stares at the screens, flipping between images and notes, dismissing them one after another. 

This scheme must hit just the right balance. 

It’s been a month a month since Duck shared his bed for a few hours, comforting him after his heart and mind had the gall to make him sad. They’ve spoken not a word about it to each other. And Duck continues only fighting Indrid with another member of the Pine Guard present. Duck held him close, stroked his hair. But he’ll hardly banter with him during battles. 

He’ll barely even look at him.

Does he revile Indrid so greatly that any affection between them must be made up for by a double measure of disinterest and mild disgust?

In response, Indrid has thrown everything he can think of at him; if Duck sees him as a villain, then he will be a villain. He will fight, he will scheme, he will swear revenge. No matter how often he thinks of the way Duck fit against him, a puzzle piece in the strange picture of his life. How his fingers itch to call him each night.

Even as he runs through his inner monologue he knows he’s oversimplifying the matter.

You see, it’s not strictly true Duck hasn’t spoken to him. There have been no face to face talks or phone calls, that is a fact. 

But if one were to look at Indrid’s personal phone, one would find a text chain that is mainly images. Birds, trees, sunsets, a cat. 

The most he gets for context is:

_Thought you might like this_

_Made me think of you. Don’t know why._

On the one of two wood ducks

_See, there’s the pair._

And, on the ones of moths

_Look, it’s a cousin._

And an even more recent one of an ice cream cone

_Tried that Gelato place you liked. You’re right, it’s fucking baller._

Indrid replied _blue moon, excellent choice._

He did not add that the flavor is mellow, sweet, and a bit strange, just like the man himself. 

He’s considered orchestrating a run-in at that shop, since Aubrey Little’s Instagram suggests Duck has been going there often with his friends. But that could backfire, and Indrid has no doubt Mrs. Nyguen would ban him if he started a fight in her shop. 

The responses to Duck remain brief, the restraint his main protection against telling Duck too much. He doesn’t even know what the too much would be. He doesn’t want to think about it. It raises too many complications. 

Instead, he’s narrowed down his plot options to two: an art heist, or breaking into the mayor’s mansion. 

He has had his eye on that one Gauguin….  
——————————  
Indrid limbers up in the entryway of the museum. Between his powers and technological abilities, the main security was easy to disable. There is a route to the post-impressionist gallery that will keep him clear of the more heavily secured rooms.

He pads across the tiles to the entrance of the traveling Monet exhibit. 

And sticks his foot into the path of the motion sensor he knows is there, setting off an alarm. 

He continues forward, setting off more alarms as he goes. It’s when he’s in the modernist exhibit that the wisps of unease floating through his system coalesce into a form.

No security guards have appeared. He planned to disarm them and knock them out, and they should be here by now.

A glimpse at the futures gives him just enough time to turn, to see a shape stepping into the arched doorway behind him like a monster emerging from a child’s closet.

“I was wondering if you’d turn up.” A clipped, cold voice muses as the figure produces a small remote, clicking it once to shut off the alarms. Reflective white glasses glint as the figure grins at him. 

“Flame. I, it can’t be, how did I-”

“Not see me coming? I don’t know, little brother. But at a guess it is because you’ve lost your touch. Which is of little concern to me, indeed I would count it as good news. Had your carelessness not just alerted our enemies to our presence here.”

“Why are you here?” 

“A number of reasons, chief among them the need to be certain you cannot cause such issues for me in the future. Which fits nicely with what I already planned to do when I finally found you, you traitorous insect.”

Indrid narrowly avoids a blast of white light, diving into the annex to his right. He doesn’t retaliate, activates his wings and shoots straight up through the skylight instead.

He’s not ready to fight the Flame. He’s never been ready. Not when they were children, training together. Not when they were sparring partners. Not when he’d finally had enough, when he knew he would never want what the Flame wanted.

That’s why he ran from him in the first place. 

Landing on the roof, he considers his escape routes. Where is his nearest hideout, where is is his defensive equipment, where-

A small, clear orb hits the toe of his shoe. Even as he throws his arms around his eyes, he knows it won’t be enough. The light is blinding, bleaching his eyes as he crumples to the bricks beneath him. The next phase of the disorienter kicks in, high pitched tones drowning out his ability to hear anything, save for The Flame’s voice.

“You’ve become such a disappointment, little brother. You abandoned the life we trained for, your constitution too weak to handle the realities of our profession. Then again, I am not all that shocked; were it not for that special gift of yours, you never would have made it as long as you did.”

“You, you speak as though I haven’t spent the last several years a prominent villain in my own right.” He needs him to keep talking, so he can locate the source of his voice and run in the opposite direction.

“You’ve thrown in with some two-bit thieves and blackmailers. You have gone soft. The Indrid I knew would never hesitate to kill his rival by any means necessary. You have spared the Green Knight and his allies so many times I lost count.”

“You spied on me.”

“Of course. I wanted to see what I would be up against. If you were of any use at all you would have gotten rid of that green-clad nuisance. Good god, brother, you must have used your powers to determine your enemy’s name and true identity by now.”

“What I do with my powers is no business of yours.”

The fear flooding his mind combined with scanning the futures for means of escape means he fails to see the weapon before it connects with his shoulder. 

The scream of pain as electricity courses through him goes unheeded, and he struggles for air, “You, you do not have to do this. I will go, you can-”

Another burst of pain, directly between his shoulder blades, his fingertips going numb even as the nerves in his neck and back catch fire.

The Flame laughs, merciless and amused, “You knew this day was coming, Indrid. It was only a matter of time before you got what you deserved.”

A thick, chemical scent registers on what remains of his senses. Through rapidly blurring vision, streaks of something hit the roof, droplets occasionally catching on his suit. 

Gasoline.

“Brother, please, _please_ , not that, I am sorry, please.”

Another touch of the lightning rod, this time to his neck, and he can no longer form words. 

“Goodbye, little brother. So nice of you to lend my grand entrance into the city’s awareness an extra victim.”

One final jolt, searing every last fiber of him.

Indrid loses consciousness to the sound of sparks.


	7. Have You Ever?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or heroes must hurry to put out a fire and save the unfortunate person stuck in the midst of it.  
> Duck takes a leap. Aubrey brings a pie. Dani lends a hand.

“Chicanery, can you get us closer?” Aubrey yells from her position on the wing of the HoverCat, “I need to be right up on it to control something this big!”

“I’ll do my best, but if the wings begin melting I reserve the right to get us the hell out of here!”

“There any way I can help, Lady Flame?” Duck leans over the passenger side of the craft, looking down at the blazing rooftop for the origin of the fire. 

“Grab me if I lose my balance?”

“Will do–oh, fuck! There’s someone down there. Can you clear me a patch, right there, so I can jump down?”

“I can” the first half of the fire dies out when Aubrey makes a fist, “but that roof can’t be stable at this point. You could both end up under rubble.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

Aubrey circles her arm twice and a landing pad appears around the figure. He leaps from the craft, hits his mark right by the body’s feet. The smoke is still thick, even with Aubrey’s intervention, so he squints as he gathers the figure into his arms. 

“Don’t worry, we’re getting you out of here–ah! Oh come the fuck on!” He yells to no one in particular as the roof gives out beneath him. 

Landing on his knees, he’s relieved to find the fire never made it inside, though smoke did, some of it coming off the singed clothing of the victim. In the flickering orange and spinning red and blue from the nearby emergency vehicles, he shifts the body in his arms, looks down with clear eyes for the first time. 

“…..Cold?”

Nothing.

“Indrid?”

Still nothing.

When Duck puts his ear against it, Indrid’s chest is corpse-cold in spite of the fire. There’s a heartbeat, a faint flutter that’s the most beautiful noise to ever grace his ears. Duck pulls Indrid close, turns to the portraits on the walls, and mutters, imploringly, “what the fuck do I do now?”  
———————–  
The first thought in Indrid’s mind is: pine?

As he noses the soft pillowcase, still half-dreaming of coastal woods and a campfire, his eyes blink open. 

The room is dark, unfamiliar. Thick curtains cover the windows, thicker blankets coat the bed in which he’s laying. 

Cautiously, he pushes the covers aside and eases his feet onto the ground. His limbs only just respond to his commands. Red glasses are waiting for him on the bedside table, and his reflection in the closet mirror shows his thin frame covered in black sweatpants and a large sweatshirt that reads “Devils Lake State Park.”

Hell has a sense of humor, it seems. A sense of humor and a very rustic decorating style. 

He opens the bedroom door, poking his head out into the dark hallway. Moves slowly, half from the stiffness between his shoulder blades from where The Flame hit him, and half from apprehension of what’s at the other end of the hall. 

The answer turns out to be anticlimactic; a living room, with a kitchen off to one side. 

Maybe the flames and sulfur are waiting for him outside the front door.

Or maybe he’s not dead, maybe someone rescued him. 

No, that’s ridiculous. 

“Mew?”

“AH!” He jumps as a cat bumps into his shin. 

“H-hello there, little friend, do you happen to know where I am?”

“Mew.” The cat hops onto the back of a nearby chair, and he pets it hesitantly. It’s sleek and velvety, which is surprising given that it’s hairless.

Wait a moment.

He peers closer, “Chicken? No, it can’t be. He wouldn’t.”

The front door opens and Indrid grabs the cat protectively, spinning to face whatever comes through it. 

“Mornin’.”

“It, it is your house.” Indrid stares at Duck, the cat wiggling free of his hold and bounding over to greet her owner.

“Uh, yeah.” Duck slips off his canvas sneakers, grocery bags slipping on his arms as he bends to pet the cat, “where else would it be?”

Indrid looks at the room around him more carefully; the poster for the Monongahela forest, photos on a shelf showing Duck with family and friends, the ranger hat hanging by the front door. 

“In retrospect, it was a tad obvious. But in my defense, I assumed I was dead and in hell.”

“Geez, my decoratin ain’t that bad.”

“Nono, I’m sorry, I mean-” he stops when a grin cracks Duck’s face, and is managing a smile in return when his back spasms and he grips the chair to keep from falling.

“Shit, you okay?” Duck sets the bags down and hurries over to him. 

“Yes. I, the weapon the Flame used, the side effects can be felt for over a week, and that is if you are lucky. It also scrambles the futures in my mind for a few days, which tends to make me dizzy.”

“Fuck, that sucks. Uh, I got some Tylenol and other medicine and shit while I was out, wasn’t sure what you’d need, and, uh, don’t usually have it in the house on account of bein super tough. You should probably eat before you take anythin though.”

“Yes, good idea. I, uh, I don’t want to impose, I, I can get something on my way home.”

“Uhhhhhhhhhhh.” Duck scratches his arm, “no, you can’t. You ain’t in any shape to travel, or to be on your own for longer than a few hours. I brought you here so I could look after you somewhere safe, given that whoever attacked you thinks you’re dead.”

“That’s very kind, Duck, but all the same I should go back to my hideout.”

“Also you’re under house arrest.”

“ _Excuse_ me?!” Indrid leaps up, then immediately sits back down, dizzy. 

“What did you think that thing on your neck was?”

Indrid feels his throat. Cool, sleek metal runs in a thin band, with a small orange light at the center. He must not have noticed it in the mirror.

“Did you put a tracking collar on me?”

“Not exactly. It’s programmed to set off an alert if you stray beyond a set radius for more than a few minutes. And if the lock is undone for more than a few seconds, it starts alerting people too.”

“I see.” Duck intends to treat him as no more than a common criminal after all.

“Look, when the police saw who I rescued, they kept clamorin for me to turn you over, or to send you to a hospital who would do the same as soon as you opened your eyes. I just…I couldn’t do it. So Ned talked ‘em into a deal. You’d stay under house arrest with the Pine Guard, and we’d look after you while also makin sure you couldn’t get into trouble.”

“So I’m going to live here. With you.” Indrid tries to sound resigned instead of excited.

“Yep. But, uh, if you need a break or change of scene, or we ain’t gettin along, you can stay with someone else. Dani’s place has a real nice garden, and Mama’s is real fortified and cozy-”

“Duck, I want to stay here. I am sure the others are lovely once you get to know them but, well, I trust you. I, you have seen me in vulnerable moments and did not harm me. You didn’t even mock me. You are, apparently, willing to keep me from the fate many would argue I deserve. I feel safe with you. Also, your cat likes me.” He points to where Chicken is kneading his leg, purring happily. 

“That is a point in your favor. Here, I’m gonna go put away groceries and get some pizza bagels heatin up. You just take it easy right here, okay?”

“I can manage that. I must admit I am surprised you agreed to be the one to look after me. Given your, ah, recent behavior towards me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You ceased fighting me one on one. Indeed, you only became more distant after that night you came to see me.”

Duck sighs, sitting down so the cat is between them, “I was gettin fonder of you, and that scared the hell out of me.”

“I see. Was it so alarming to feel affection for me?”

“Wha-no, no, what I meant was that I was afraid I wouldn’t want to hurt you but you’d still want to hurt me, or I’d want to do things with you that you didn’t want but felt like you couldn’t stop me, or, just, any combo of feelin’s between a hero and a villain that could lead to trouble.” 

“Oh.”

Duck stares at him for a moment, waiting for him to say more. But nothing comes. Indrid wants to confess, but he can’t figure out what, exactly, the confession would be. The shorter man’s face falls for an instant, before he smiles again. 

“Guess we’re roommates now.”

“Roommates. Yes.” Indrid wracks his brain for what he knows about how two people live in a space, something he has not done since he ran all those years ago.

When that fails, he draws on his nights in front of the T.V for clues.

“Do I need to label my food? Or hang a sock on the door?”

“What?” Duck giggles

“Those are roommate things!”

“You’re right, you’re right” Duck holds up his hands in surrender, still giggling, “You don’t gotta label food, and no need to hang a sock if you need privacy; that room you’re in is the spare bedroom. Mine’s just across the hall. We can figure out chores and things as we go; might make you clean the bathrooms to make up for all the punchin.”

“That is more than fair.” Indrid smiles.

“There it is.” Duck murmurs.

Indrid cocks his head.

“That smile. Your happy one, not your evil one. Never seen anythin quite like it.”

He disappears into the kitchen before Indrid can decide on being flattered or flustered. Settles on both, rolls onto his back on the couch, pulling a large, plaid blanket down onto himself, futzes with the pillows to find a position that doesn’t hurt. 

The smell of processed cheese and cheap marinara fills the house as Duck walks in with something hidden behind his back. 

“You might need this while you’re nestin up on the couch.”

He produces the mothman pillow from Indrid’s hide-out, which the villain grabs, wrapping his arms around it.

“Kinda had to give away your hideout. Sorry. They’re gonna bring more of your stuff over later, after they finish confiscatin’ anythin you could use if you got the urge to cause a problem. They wouldn’t even let me keep your non-super villain-y phone. But they let me put together a box of things you might need right away. Grabbed your toothbrush and such too.”

“Thank you.” Indrid’s replies, muffled against the pillow. “Duck, I, I don’t know how, what am I supposed to do now? How am I supposed to repay you?”

“You don’t got to. Yeah, there’s some things you could do that’d make both our lives a whole fuck of a lot easier. But Indrid?” He kneels down so they’re face to face, cups the back of Indrid’s head, and it’s tender and warm and Indrid presses into the gesture, desperate for more. 

“Long and short of it is I’m so fuckin glad you’re alive.” 

The timer dings.

“That’s lunch ready. I’ll go grab it, we gotta some calories into you, you been out for nearly whole fuckin day.” 

Soon, a plate of pizza bagels sits on the coffee table between them, Duck remarkably adept at keeping Chicken from running off with them.

“You say you do not expect me to repay you but what about the others?” Indrid sips his juice anxiously, “surely they will expect information or cooperation of some kind in exchange for my continued freedom.”

“I ain’t gettin that sense. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you ever wanna share tips that’ll help us take other villains down, doubt any of us are gonna complain. But this ain’t some quid pro quo shit; long as you don’t pull anythin’, you’ll be left alone.”

He runs his finger around the empty glass, “In that case, what do I do all day?”

“Whatever you want that doesn’t take you out of the apartment?”

Indrid blinks at him, “I cannot stress enough how little ‘free time’ I have had in my life.”

“You like drawin’, right? I brought some of your supplies with me, but I can get you more. Uh, I got Netflix? And, um, decent number of books-”

Indrid chuckles to cover his blush, “Duck, I did not mean it was your responsibility to entertain me. I can find ways to occupy my time. I am more wondering aloud how a villain who cannot commit misdeeds fills his days.”

“Well, I can think of the first one; we gotta check over your injuries.” Duck clears the dishes into the kitchen, washing his hands before returning with several jars of blue and green ointment, “Dani sent me with these after she patched you up last night. Her guess was you’d need a few more passes with ‘em, and judgin by how stiff you are, reachin your back on your own may be, uh, outta reach. So to speak.”

“Very well.” Indrid removes his shirt, turning his back to Duck.

“Jesus fuck.”

“Yes, that is the general consensus when viewing the aftermath of a lightning rod.”

“Christ.” A plastic pop as Duck opens a jar, “I wish we’d gotten there sooner.”

“No, you do not.”

Duck sounds about to argue, then simply says, “Well, at least you got the good sense to fireproof your suit.”

“To some degree. But doesn’t everybody?”

“You’d be surprised. Okay, this is for the burns, not sure if it’ll sting.”

Cool, sticky balm smooths over the patches where the weapon hit him, absorbing so it leaves behind no residue.

“And then this one...nope, that’s the stuff she made me so Chicken’s skin wouldn’t itch, uh, here, this one is for your muscles. Where’s it hardest to move?”

Indrid tests his range of motion in his limbs and neck, “My shoulders and shoulder blades.”

A warm, gentle tingle follows the path of Duck’s fingers and Indrid whimpers.

“That hurt?”

“No, ah, it feels very nice.” He murmurs, eyes dropping as Duck works the salve into his skin. Indrid wants to lean back, cuddle into his arms as he tends to him. For Duck to touch every inch of his skin. 

“You can do the rest wherever you need it, think that was all the patches you’d have trouble reachin’.”

“Thank you.” Indrid slumps sideways, landing in Duck’s arms and oh, those same arms wrap around his middle as their owner makes a startled, but not annoyed, noise. He wants to drink in the sensation of bare forearms on his bare stomach forever. 

“C’mon on you, think it’s time for more rest.”

“I am fine.”

“Indrid, less than forty-eight hours ago you were unconscious and almost on fire. You gotta rest.”

“I can rest right here.” 

“Nope, because I gotta vacuum before the dust bunnies figure out how to form a society. And I didn’t make up the damn guest bed for nothin.” 

“A fair point.” Indrid slowly rises, makes it halfway down the hall before another dizzy spell knocks him into the wall. Then Duck is there, helping into the welcome dark of the room and under the covers. 

“Don’t you go anywhere.” Duck teases gently as Indrid burrows further.

“I won’t. I fear you may be stuck with me, Duck Newton.” He grins sleepily.

Duck smiles back, “Think I can handle that.”  
\---------------------------------------  
“How’s havin’ a pet supervillain goin’?”

“He ain’t a pet, Juno.” Duck finishes double checking the locks on the visitor center.

“I know, goofus, I’m just givin you a hard time.” Juno punches his shoulder, then pulls out her car keys, “but givin how calm you’re bein’, seems like you think he’s pretty damn tame.”  
“It ain’t that. He’s still one of the sharpest villains I ever run across. But he’s hurt, and he trusts me, and I’m countin that as a enough proof that I’m safe havin’ him around.”

“I hope you’re right, you softy.”

“Juno, do I gotta bring up the baby bird incident?”

“Don’t you fuckin dare.” She waves, getting into her Subaru, and sticks her head out the window to call, “softy!”

Duck flips her off with a smirk and gets into his car. As he drives, he chews on the same worry he’s been gnawing all day; what if he really has made a mistake? What if Indrid is just biding his time, or made a death ray or something out of the toaster?

When he walks into the apartment, he’s certainly not expecting what he finds. 

Indrid is seated on the couch, pink and yellow sweater around his shoulders and Chicken curled next to him. The T.V is playing some cartoon Duck doesn’t recognize, there are Capri Sun pouches strewn everywhere, and the villain is elbow deep in a box of Lucky Charms. 

“Y’know, always thought villains were big into caviar and fancy shit like that.”

Indrid jumps, turning to look at Duck with cheeks still half-full of cereal. 

“I have a, ah, a bit of a sweet tooth.” He offers sheepishly once he swallows, “I will clean up after myself. I promise. That is what a good roommate does.”

“Puts you a step ahead of other folks I lived with.” Duck steps to the back of the couch and spots the book sitting in Indrid’s lap.

It’s a photo album.

“Uh, where’d you get that?”

“I was looking at the bookshelf for something to read. It is a fascinating document. Did you compile it?”

“Nope. I got a, uh, a sister. But you already knew that, I’m guessin’.”

“I know that she exists and that her name is Jane.” 

“Every now and then she gets a case of scrapbook fever. Made this durin’ the last one.”

(Boy is he glad this is the one from his high school days onward; he can’t handle a villain seeing his baby pictures).

Indrid turns a few pages, “You were very handsome as a young man.”

“Uh, thanks?”

“Though I feel you have improved with age.”

“I’m gonna go start dinner.” Duck says hurriedly, turning towards the kitchen, “after that we oughta check on your back.”

Indrid makes a soft, affirmative noise as he continues looking at the album. 

Duck starts the oven, grabs the jars from the bathroom and returns, Indrid dutifully doffing his sweater. The marks on his back aren’t nearly as raw as they were yesterday, the skin smooth and red rather than looking like it had been mangled by a red-hot bread-knife.

As he rubs the balm across the marks, Indrid sighs, and more of his weight shifts to rest against Duck’s palm. Duck assumed his melty demeanor last night was the result of exhaustion and fear. 

He doesn’t know what he’ll do if Indrid makes those noises every time he touches him. It might break him faster than an Extermigtaor bite to the spine.

“You get up to anythin fun today?”

“No. What you see is what I have been doing since I woke up. What about you?”

“Had a lotta tour groups.”

“Where did you take them?”

Duck tells him, and then he tells him about the tree health project over dinner, while Indrid shows him the few drawings he was able to make (“my fingers still rebel after more than a few minutes of holding a pen”). They’re all of Chicken.

“Careful, she'll start gettin’ a big head.”

“Nonsense. She is a beautiful and humble creature.”

“That’s what she wants you to think"

They talk until Indrid begins drooping, and Duck walks him to his bedroom even though he's already moving more easily. 

“Goodnight, chivalrous one.”

“Night.” Duck smiles as Indrid eases the door shut. 

It’s only as he’s getting ready for bed himself that he realizes; in the gentler tone, with that different smile, the nickname no longer sounds like a taunt.

It sounds like a pet name.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------  
In spite of his assuring Duck that he is occupying his days easily, Indrid is going a bit stir-crazy. In the week and a half since his arrival, his ability to draw has returned (his future vision remains spotty), he’s been brought many books from the library, and he’s taken to doing a few chores each day to busy his mind. 

But he’s also in the midst of building a massive, scale replica of Kepopolis out of cardboard for Chicken to play in and/or lay waste to. 

Goodness, he hopes Duck manages to talk the others into letting him have some kind of infopad or smart phone soon. 

A knock on the door, and when he goes to answer it he peeks through the keyhole to find recognizable faces. Though they’re ones he’s never seen in person without masks on.

“Hello.” He opens the door enough so Dani, Aubrey, and Barclay can enter without letting Chicken out. 

“Hey.” Barclay gives him a small, but genuine, smile.

“Duck is at work. Do you need me to get something of his for you?”

“Nope! We’re here to see you.” Aubrey proudly shoves the pie she’s carrying into Indrid’s hands.

“Thank you. Also, why?”

“Why the pie? Or why are we here?”

“Both.”

“The pie is from my mom. She says it’s good luck to give someone pie when they move into a new place. I think she mostly likes having an excuse to bust out the strawberry rhubarb pie recipe she stole from Barclay.”

“She wooed me with those Oreo truffles. I let my guard down.” Barclay grumbles playfully, heading into the kitchen.

“As for why we’re here” Dani scoops up the cat, “we wanted to come and meet you. Y’know, in a not-trying-to-kill-us context.”

“I never tried to kill you.” Indrid mutters. 

“Coulda fooled us. Anyone want tea?” Barclay grabs the teapot.

“Yes, please.” Dani lets Chicken go, “Look, Indrid, we’ve hurt you and you’ve hurt us. Part of why we came is to try to get to know you the way Duck does.”

“And so you know you have people who are rooting for you who aren’t him. We don’t want you to feel like he’s all you got.” Aubrey flops down on the couch.

“Thank you.” Indrid sits on the floor as the other three settle in, “I suppose I should also thank you, Dani, for the help in healing my wounds. You have made the recovery from my extremely bad night much more bearable.”

“Gotta love my Aloe hybrids.” 

“Still better than the sentient cactus.” Barclay hands Dani a mug as he and Aubrey share a shudder.

“Did it shoot spines?” Indrid takes the mug the cook sets before him.

“No. It just really, really wanted a hug.”

Indrid barks a laugh, and Dani adds, “I still have it. I just put it in a terrarium with a teddy bear.”

“I once unintentionally created a robotic moth that raided a florists shop.”

“This I gotta hear.” Aubrey flips so she’s facing Indrid, gesturing for him to continue.

By the time he’s finished telling them of the exploits of LunaMech 1.0, Aubrey has broken out the pie. Barclay explains the way he discovered his powers, which involved a stolen car and accidentally threatening a child with a gun.

Soon, the pie is finished and Dani glances at the clock, “Dang, we gotta go soon, fireblossom; your show is in an hour and a half. It was nice getting to know you better, Indrid.”

“You as well. Ah, before you go, I have a question: has Duck ever done anything of this nature before?”

The three think, and Aubrey replies, “I mean, I guess there was the whole Billy thing.”

“Billy thing?”

Barclay leans on the arm of the couch, “It happened when Duck was younger, back when he was with The Chosen Squad. They were in some fight and he found a wounded henchman in the woods afterwards. Took the guy back to his safehouse to patch him up. Minerva was furious with him, told him to kill the guy. Duck told her to get lost, refused to off him. Helped him get better. The guy went underground as soon as he was healthy. They thought he’d never be heard from again. Then he ended up giving them info that helped them defeat Reconciliation, one of the biggest threats back in those days.”

“This is a pattern for him, then.”

“Wouldn’t say that. Billy was nowhere near to being his nemesis, and he sure as shit never lived with him. But why would that be, uh, so important to you?” Barclay’s eyes take on a curious gleam, and Aubrey trades a knowing look with Dani.

“No reason, merely curiosity.” Indrid says quickly. 

“Uh suuuuure.” Aubrey opens the door for Dani, “whelp, this was fun! We’ll totally come over and hang out again!”

“Yes, it was quite enjoyable.” Indrid waves as they depart. 

“Do you think they suspect something about Duck and myself?” He asks the cat.

“Mew.”

“You are right. After all, what is there to suspect?”  
\--------------------------------------------------  
Duck has never had so much cash on his person and it is stressing him out. 

Indrid has been with him about three weeks, and yesterday he removed the key to a safety deposit box from inside a small mothman keychain.

“It will be under E.Frost. There should be more than enough in there to cover the cost of housing a second person.” His roommate said, before returning to sketching on the IPad Duck managed to get him. He’d had to allow Stern and his cohorts to install all manner of trackers and history monitors into it. Indrid seemed mainly delighted to have a way to play games or read E-Books.

This is all to say that Duck is now carrying about seven thousand dollars in his jacket, and doesn’t feel calm until he’s at home and the bills are in the fireproof safe in the living room.  
As the safe clicks shut, a noise catches his attention.

Moaning. A very specific kind of moaning. 

Well, he’ll just shut himself in his room and listen to music until Indrid is done.

But when he walks past the villains door, he finds it open, Indrid laying on the bed, watching something (Duck is pretty damn sure he knows what) on his IPad. The sounds are coming from the device, not the man.

“Oh, hic, h-hello Duck.” Indrid grins goofily at him, unbothered by the sounds coming from the screen or the fact Duck can hear them. 

“Uh, hey man. You, uh, you need a minute?”

“No. I, hic, did you find the, hic, box okay?”

“Yeeah.” Duck’s gaze slides to the bedside table, and he spots the source of Indrid’s weird behavior.

“How much of that bottle did you drink?”

“Half. Oh, hic, no, was, was I not supposed to? You said I could have whatever was in the fridge.”

“I know, uh, it’s just that, the stuff you drank was a present from Juno. She worked with Dani to make a liquor that can actually get me buzzed, because my powers make me really resistant to the effects of booze. Two shots of that is enough to get me drunk.”

“Ohhhhhhhhh, hic, that would explain how odd I feel. I am somewhat resistant to substances but, hic, not as much as you.”

Indrid adjusts, movements lacking their usual grace, and Duck gets a full view of his screen; a tall blonde is handcuffed and moaning beneath a title line reading, “Southern Bear Teaches Naughty Twink Some Manners.”

“Uh, you, uh, know Stern and them can see your history right?”

“Yes. I, hic, I am not ashamed of researching.”

“That what you’re callin it?”

“I, hic, I find pornography intriguing. I seldom use it for it’s, hic, intended purpose. For instance, I am not doing so now.”

“So you just...like watchin’ it for the hell of it?”

“It is fascinating, all the ways of doing the same basic act. Though, while this” he turns the screen so Duck can see the twink now in the bears lap, “is always done as the main, hic, focus, I find this part more appealing.” Indrid’s finger sloppily scrolls, his brow furrowed in concentration, and then he turns the screen again so Duck can see the blowjob.

“I mean, uh, blowjobs are pretty nice. I, uh, I guess.”

“I imagine they are. But that, hic, is not what I meant. The thought of giving one is just, it is just…what would it be like, to have someone trust you so much? To let you put one of the sharpest parts of your body near somewhere so sensitive?” He stares wistfully at the screen, “I wonder…”

“You wonder...imagine...hold up, Indrid, have you ever _had_ sex?”

Indrid giggles, “Do not be ridiculous. No, of course I have not. I have enjoyed a, hic, handful of kisses and plenty of self-pleasure. Nothing beyond that.”

Duck wants to respond, but it’s hard with the porn and the way Indrid is smiling, sleepy and trusting, at him. With that new information and all it suggests.  
“Why?”  
“I uh, I dunno, guess I assumed you were all wordly and, uh, y’know how people love a bad guy with a slick attitude and nice smile.”

“I, hic, fail to see how that applies to me. OH, wait, hic, have _you_ ever had sex?”

“Uh huh.” His voice tightens and climbs an octave.

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Uh, uh, oh, uh, damn, lookit that” he points to the clock, “uh, time to, uh, fuck, uh, groom the cat? Fuck, um, I’m gonna go order pizza”

“Oooooh, can we also order some of those mini-Cinnabons?” Indrid nearly rolls off the bed when he turns to ask the question.

“Yep, course we can sugar, uh, fuck, sorry, heard it on that video, got my wires crossed, I’ll come get you when dinner gets here.” 

He shuts the door quickly, drops his head into his hands with a groan as soon as he’s in the kitchen.

“Mew?”

“I called him ‘sugar.’”

“Mew”

“Maybe he won’t remember.” 

“Mew.”

“What the fuck even was that? Was he hintin’ that I’m his type? What am I gonna do?”

“Mew” Chicken scratches the cabinet containing her food. Duck opens it, gets her food into a bowl, feels calmer at the familiar motion. Indrid’s just drunk, drunk and already a little socially awkward. He doesn’t want Duck that way, no more than Duck wants him.

“It’ll all be fine, skinny legs,” he scritches Chicken’s head, “it’ll be totally fine.”


	8. Trust Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Indrid tries to find his place in the Pine Guard and the world in general. Duck spars. Stern intervenes. Indrid runs.

Indrid is sketching, stretched out on the couch. His powers have come back online slowly, so slowly that he suspects The Flame modified the Lighting Rod he used in order to disrupt them more severely. Drawing helps him get used to the flood of futures once more.

Today, he looks down and tries not to flinch.

A summer storm, the sudden and torrential kind, will arrive over Kepopolis in fifteen minutes. In seventeen minutes, it will trigger a landslide on the western edge of the state park. That landslide will kill a minimum of 18 people and a maximum of forty, including all occupants of a schoolbus carrying a summer camp’s worth of children. And Juno Divine.

This is not his concern. This is not what his powers are for. 

(This has never worked in the past).

His gaze searches for something other than the disaster, finds the picture of Duck at what he assumes was Juno’s wedding. It seems like it was meant to be a staged, formal photo, but someone must have said something, as both Duck and Juno are laughing, Duck doing so hard enough that he has to lean on his friend.

He needs to find a phone. 

Duck doesn’t have a landline, and Indrid does not have a cell phone or other communicator. He’s been emailing Duck during work if he notices they’re out of something or if the ranger left his errand list on the counter again. But that will not be fast enough this time. 

Indrid puts his pen back on the paper, shuts his eyes, and follows any path that shows him going to find a telephone. The nearest one will take him seven minutes to get to. 

His collar will sound the alarm three minutes after he steps off the stoop. There are several futures where that results in near-instantaneous capture by those assigned to keep him in line. 

He walks to the door, and pulls on his boots, rolling his shoulders and quickly stretching his legs.

The Moth didn’t come by his reputation for speed and agility by accident.

(Fourteen minutes until the slide).

Indrid opens the door, and runs. 

His target destination is a pay phone, the only one still operating in this part of the city, selected because he won't lose precious time convincing someone to let him use it. 

At five minutes into his run, a new obstacle barrels towards him, first in the timelines and then on two motorcycles. He could take an alternate route down an alley and over a roof, but that risks him arriving too late. 

The motorcycles squeal to a stop, their riders dismounting and drawing night sticks. He stops too, hands held out, palms up.

“I know this looks very bad, but please, this is a matter of life and death.”

“Sorry Cold, but our instructions for what to do if you break the perimeter are clear. Come quietly."

“Please, you can follow me if you must to be sure I won't do anything wrong, but we are running out of time.”

“Last warning.”

“Very well.” He lowers his hands in defeat, hangs his head as the agents approach him.

Then he lets instinct take over. 

The agent to his left is faster on the draw, but Indrid is too quick, disarming her easily, grabbing her weapon from the air without needing to look and bringing it down on the back of her partner's head. By the time she registers her partner hitting the ground, Indrid catches her in the back of her knees, two swift, precise strikes meaning she won’t be able to chase him down. 

As he sprints away from them, the timelines tell a bleak tale; he won’t make the phone in time. But there’s a man on his Iphone just about to round that corner.

“Hey! What the fuck man!”

“I will bring it back! Probably!” Indrid calls over his shoulder, darting into a dead-end alley and easily leaping and clambering his way up a fire escape.

Back pressed to the wall, he dials a cellphone number he memorized weeks ago.

“Go for-”

“Duck, Duck it’s me. You have to block off the western exit now, there’s going to be a mudslide, you need to move quickly. Even if it hits before you clear the road, if you’re already on the scene you can pull people out as the Knight and save everyone.”

“Indrid? How the hell-”

“You have six minutes. Go, now.”

“Goin’.” Duck hangs up and Indrid keeps the phone at his ear as he watches the futures shift and rearrange. The death toll drops to thirteen, then seven, then two, then, finally, in every future, zero.

“Thank goodness.” The descent to the street takes no time at all, and if he’s lucky that man is still angrily searching for him, so he can return his phone. 

“Hands, hands!”

His hands fly up as soon as he steps from the alleyway. No fewer than eight agents from the Department of Hero Oversight and five cops surround him, guns drawn.

“On your knees, don’t so much as think about pulling anything." One barks.

Indrid complies, let’s another agent pluck the phone from his fingers.

“I knew Newton was out of his mind to trust you.”

A cautious look to his right reveals a man with greying hair and a humorless expression. Ah, yes, he’s seen this one in futures before.

“Agent Hayes, correct?”

“Yes, and everyone is about to be talking about how correct _I_ was to put so much security on you. In less than ten minutes you made a run for it, knocked out two of my agents, and were already stealing again.”

“I was trying to help, I needed to warn Duck about a disaster in the park and did not have a phone.”

“Given your rapsheet, I’m not inclined to believe you. You were on thin ice to begin with, and after this stunt I doubt even Newton will try to vouch for you. Which means we can finally put you where you belong.”

“No, wait-” Indrid tries to stand, but an electric buzz makes him curl back in on himself. 

“I swear if one of you uses that taser on me you will be dearly sorry.” He hisses.

“See, doesn’t take much to make that supervillain come back out. Cuff him and let’s get the hell out of here.”

There’s a commotion as a tall, movie-star handsome man with dark hair and a darker suit pushes his way through the crowd

“Wait, wait just a moment! Excuse me, sorry, wait, Agent Hayes-” 

“Agent Stern, glad you arrived in time to see exactly how wrong you were about letting Cold off with just house arrest.”

“On the contrary, sir, I got here just in time to keep you from arresting someone who was integral in saving civilian lives. Duck just called me; there was just a mudslide at that park that, if he had not been properly warned of ahead of time by Mr. Cold, would have killed many, many people.”

“Why did Newton tell you this?” Hayes crosses his arms.

“Because he put together that Mr. Cold probably broke perimeter in order to reach him, and that our agents would be on him quickly. He wanted to defend him and, uh, keep our agency from doing anything we might regret.”

Stern stares his boss down, and when Hayes doesn’t budge adds, “Need I remind you what happened the last time we got on Ms. Cobb’s bad side?” 

Hayes scowls and then nods, and the agents surrounding Indrid lower their weapons. He refuses to give them the pleasure of watching him collapse forward in relief. 

“I can make sure Mr.Cold returns to where he needs to go.” 

“Fine. But Stern, I swear, if this happens again you’re in as much trouble as the rest of them.”

“Understood, sir.” Stern steps in front of Indrid, helps him up without radiating the same suspicion his peers do.

They walk back to the apartment in silence, Indrid getting a flash of guilt when he remembers he didn’t lock the door. That’s terrible roommate behavior.

Once inside, Stern shuts the door and locks it before leaning against it. The barred exit makes Indrid eye him warily and keep the couch between them.

“It’s alright, Mr. Cold. I have no intention of harassing or attacking you.”

“I trust the Pine Guard when they say such things, but you’ll forgive me if I do not trust an agent so readily.”

Stern dips his head in affirmation, “Understood. And, honestly, a pretty smart strategy.”

“That said, thank you for assisting me just now. I knew your department was skeptical of my ability to live life without being a villain, but I was not fully prepared for how, ah, aggressive that skepticism was.”

A small, huffed laugh, “Yes, ‘jaded’ may very well be a hiring qualification at this point.”

“And you are not that way?”

“I have my moments. But, well, I trust Duck. I trust Barclay and the others as well, and they all vouch for you now. A good villain could fool one or two heroes, but a whole team? Either Duck is right, or you’re such a skilled villain that all the cynicism in the world won’t protect us.”

“They all think highly of me.” Indrid cocks his head. 

“They certainly don’t think you’re just some heartless, irredeemable monster. Which is why” blue eyes fix him with an uncomfortably sharp gaze, “I think it’s time you told them the truth about your abilities.”

Chicken hops onto the back of the couch. Indrid pets her, but says nothing.

“They’ll probably figure them out on their own, especially after today. But it might go a long way towards helping them trust you even more to tell them yourself.”

“I suppose you are right. I have slipped up around Duck more than once, mentioned things or made comments about my abilities that a more careful version of me would have kept secret. But if he followed them to their logical conclusion, he has not told me.”

(He wanted him to figure it out. Having a nemesis puzzle it out held more honor than simply telling him).

“Well, think it over. I’ll leave you to your afternoon, as I need to go get chewed out by my superiors.”

(A favor for a favor, that’s still a little villainous, right?)

“If you stop for coffee, Hayes will be gone by the time you get to the office. And he is less awful tomorrow than he is this afternoon.”

Stern smiles at him, “Thank you for the tip. And Mr. Cold? You may want to consider more than just telling the Pine Guard about your abilities. Maybe a life of forced retirement suits you; but if what you did today is any indication, I don’t think you’re as uninvested in the well-being of the city as you might pretend.”

Indrid picks up the drawing that sent him careening out the door, “Agent Stern, I have the sinking feeling you may be right.”  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------  
It’s been a wild forty-eight hours. 

He’d come home exhausted Tuesday night, mud still in places he’d rather not have mud, only for Indrid to fuss over him until he went to bed. The villain made dinner, rubbed Tiger Balm into the band of muscle Duck wretched pulling a sedan out of the mud, and generally wasting no time in telling Duck how much he appreciated his intervention with the Department.

The next day, Indrid asked him to call a meeting of the Pine Guard, where he promptly explained what hero after hero got wrong and what Duck already suspected: Indrid can see the future. 

More surprising was Indrid’s offer to use that power to help them.

_“It is still somewhat disrupted, but I will do my best. And” Indrid’s expression loses much of it’s confidence, “while my reputation means it is best if I do not join you on missions I, ah, I would like to offer my services in other ways. Whatever ways you feel you could best utilize me Griz-, ah, Ms., ah-”_

_“Just call me Mama, Indrid.”_

_“Right. Mama.” Indrid clears his throat, “As he is the one who can adjust the allowed coordinates on my collar, I will only be here at the base when Duck is here as well.”_

_Duck spots Aubrey and Dani exchanging that same damn look again, the one they give each other whenever he mentioned Indrid. Behind his glasses, Indrid’s eyes flick sideways towards the pair._

_“Also, Barclay, please call Agent Stern. He was upstairs having coffee and kept looking longingly in your direction.”_

_“Wait, what?” Aubrey turns to the cook, who looks at a watch that’s not there._

_“Oh damn, better go check on the dough for tomorrow."_

As glad as he is that Indrid seems to be coming to their side, Duck suspects he’s still hiding something, some reason why he won’t go on missions with them. 

He wishes Indrid would tell them (or even just him) more about The Flame, something useful rather than the standard “ooh, I’m a big scary villain” message he sent out after setting the museum on fire. But whenever the other villain is mentioned, Indrid tenses and goes quiet. 

He also wishes Indrid would stop referring to the tracker as a collar and implying Duck is in charge of said collar. Every time the villain phrases it that way, Duck has to do deep breathing exercises to keep his mind from running off in search of what kind of collar he’d actually get Indrid if he could. 

Right now, he’s mercifully not thinking about collars, or new villains, or the familiar villain who lives in his house and smiles at him each morning and has gotten more comfortable resting against him on the couch at night-

_WHAP_

“Owfuck!” A splotch of blue spreads across his left side.

“Focus, Duck Newton! You have been training so often this last month, and with such fervor, I thought you would be more alert by now.”

“I’m plenty alert, Minerva” Duck adjusts his grip on the battle staff, “now come at me again, need to blow off some steam.”

“This ain’t just about blowin’ off steam” Leo pauses his assault on a heavy bag, “Every one of those marks is a point you gotta work on defendin better.” The older main points to the paint, Minerva’s trick to help Duck see where he needs to work on protecting.

“There’s only two!” 

“That she’s hit twice each.”

“Look, I’m a tank, same as you. We’re built to take hits when we gotta.”

“Very true! However, I agree with Leo.” Minerva sets her staff aside, “with so many new enemies, you must have as few weak points as possible, Duck Newton. Which is why we have decided to add agility and speed to your training regiment.” She points to a small circle of box jumps, balance beams, and platforms, including a false, padded wall.

“So, what, you’re gonna chase me around there?”

“Not I, Duck Newton.”

“That pleasure falls to me.”

Indrid stands on the far side of the mat, practice staff slung over one shoulder and glasses taking on a new glint beneath the bright lights. He’s in a black tank top and pants, barefoot just as Duck is. As he approaches, Duck takes the chance to appreciate things previously hidden from his view by the villain’s uniform or loose, layered clothes. His arms, for instance, are lean but clearly strong, the way the curves in his muscle make his sharper features all the more striking.

“The exercise is simple; the first of us to reach five points is the victor. Each hit is a point, hits obtained while in the air or balancing are worth two points.” Indrid enters the circle and Duck follows him, “Leo and Minerva will be acting as judges. Shall we?”

Indrid cocks his head and Duck takes his position across from him. Notices Indrid’s grip on the weapon is different than his, prepared to move or change hands rather than stable and ready to strike. 

“Ready, chivalrous one?” Indrid says quietly.

“Dunno Indrid, been so long since we tangled, think I’ve forgotten what fightin you feels like.” Duck shoots him a smile. 

Indrid returns the expression, though it rapidly turns predatory, “In that case, do not think of me as Indrid. Think of me as The Moth.”

“Begin!”

Indrid is off the ground before Duck even swings, hopping from platform to platform and aiming a swing at Duck that he barely avoids. 

Duck tracks his path, waits for his feet to touch the ground, then knocks them out from beneath him.

“One point to Duck!” Calls Leo.

“Well done.” Indrid purrs before springing up. It’s so fast, the flip he performs so elegant that Duck never sees the hit to his back coming.

“Two points to Indrid!”

“Damn it.” He whirls, staff pointed and ready to attack, but Indrid stays out of reach, circling him on the narrower platforms and balance beams. 

“I am not coming back down, Duck. You either forfeit, or come and get me.”

His hackles raise at the same moment as a rush of desire courses up his spine. Indrid hasn’t spoken to him in that tone, switching between sing-song and matter-of-fact but always smug, since their last real fight.

“Woo! You got this Duck!” Aubrey cheers from the nearby bench. When did she get here? When did Dani?

“Were I a wagering man, my money would be on The Moth.”

Oh, come on, even Ned’s here?

Duck jumps, joining Indrid on the platform. Dodges his swing and spin kicks. It doesn’t connect, but Indrid still has to scurry back to avoid it. Duck completes the turn just in time to catch Indrid in the stomach, sending him skidding on his back and only narrowly avoiding a plunge of the platform. 

“Two to Duck!”

“Much better.” Indrid rushes him, their weapons connecting for the first time as Duck blocks. Then he keeps blocking, Indrid’s precise, rapid strikes an attempt to force Duck back onto a narrower stretch. He goes, wobbling upon discovering the beam is unsteady, and Indrid catches him on the shoulder while his stance is down.

“Score’s four to three!”

Duck glides back as Indrid advances, growling whenever Indrid just dodges his attacks.

“You doin’ this just to show off those powers?”

“No.” Indrid swings for his legs, Duck leaping and landing with a “hah!”

“I am doing this because there will come a time when you are up against a villain who fights much as I do, and where you will have no room for error or weakness if you want to come out of that fight alive.” He jabs and Duck slips his shoulder out of the way. The Moth lunges, pushing at him when their weapons connect. Duck pushes back, bringing their faces close in the process.

“I think you just missed gettin your ass kicked by me.” He growls, more predatory than playful. 

“Do not be ridiculous. Usually it was the other way around.”

Duck musters all his strength and shoves, but as soon as he completes the movement Indrid pivots, balancing on the tiniest sliver of space with one foot, the other out as a counterweight. 

Duck falls, propelled entirely by his own force. 

Landing with an “oof” he rolls over and calls, “does that count as a hit?”

“No” Indrid lands beside him, staff pointed at his throat, “but this does.”

Duck braces for the strike. What he gets is the faintest tap on the nose.

“Indrid is the victor!”

“You guys were both super amazing!” Dani yells as Aubrey whistles and Ned applauds. 

Indrid helps him up, “Are you alright? The fall did not hurt you?”

“Indrid, you’ve seen me fall off a six story building and get up fine.”

“Ah, yes, right.” Indrid looks down, adjusts his glasses. One of his few nervous tics. 

“Whelp, uh, I gotta go shower and get this paint off before we head. Can’t go into the night shift at the park lookin like I lost a paintball match."

“Of course, my worthy adversary.” Indrid replies without a trace of condescension, stepping aside so Duck can exit the mat and then the room.

When he hits the shower in the locker room, he twists the knob to cold. 

“You’re so fuckin predictable.” He mutters to himself, visions of Indrid, on his hands and knees, Duck’s fingers tugging his pale hair, flood his mind. 

It’s not that he objects to the images, or that those fantasies stopped once Indrid moved in. But ever since Indrid’s drunken admission of his own inexperience, their content is usually not aggressive.

Now, most nights he pictures Indrid laid out in his bed, smiling as Duck caresses him, nuzzling and sighing the way he does when he’s falling asleep on Duck’s shoulder. Adds in rose petals and satin sheets and shit like that because why the hell not, he’s already being a romantic sap as he imagines spoiling his ex-enemy with kisses. Wonders what it would like to have Indrid that way, to be, in essence, his first partner. Would he be shy? Eager? Pent up after years of desire and desperate to do whatever Duck wanted?

He can’t decide if the return of his earlier, more aggressive fantasies is a relief or not. Maybe he should see them as proof what he feels is nothing more than lust or misdirected energy.

Maybe that’s not what he wants.

It’s these competing maybes and the paralysis they cause that keep him from having to hide an erection when Indrid joins him in the showers. 

Duck’s showered with the others plenty of times (except Ned, who maintains communal bathing is beneath his dignity), and he guesses Indrid has done the same. There’s no reason to feel awkward; Indrid even leaves the customary one shower heads distance between them, rather than standing directly beside him. 

Duck still plans to look at the tile for the foreseeable future.

“Do you need me to take care of any chores tonight?”

“Nope, unless you count feedin’ Chicken.”

“Only when she tries to clamber into the bag of dry food.”

Duck scrubs the blue splotch on his side, thinking back over their training.

“The Flame’s that scary, huh?”

“Yes.” Indrid nods, and Duck realizes he’s without his glasses. He sort of assumed the man showered in them, given his reluctance to remove them, “if...if I had my way, you would never face him.”

“Just me?”

“No, ah, well, ‘you’ as in all of the Pine Gaurd. But also, yes. I hate the idea of him harming you.”

Duck’s about to ask why when Indrid hisses in pain, hand flying to the back of his neck, “what in the devil?”

“Want me to look?”

“If you do not mind.”

Duck steps into the spray of much warmer water, brushes Indrid’s damp hair aside.

“Uh, looks like mat burn and some scracthes from the tracker. Probably from when I sent you flyin. Sorry about that.”

Indrid chuckles, “It’s quite alright. A hazard of training. It merely took me by surprise.”

He looks at the red mark. It’s not that bad. But he put it there.

He put many like it in god knows how many parts of Indrid.

Duck dips his head forward, brushing his lips along the mark for a heartbeat.

“There” he murmurs shakily, “now it’s a real apology.”

“Oh.” Indrid sighs.

Duck’s eyes dart down, take in the scars dappling his back, islands of unpleasant memories carved into him by some hero or villain or who knows what else. It doesn’t matter who caused them. They shouldn’t be there.

Indrid deserved something more than this patchwork of violence. 

Carefully, he presses his lips to a semi-circular scar on Indrid’s right shoulder. Desperate as he is to pull Indrid to him, hold him, map his body with his hands, he keeps them behind his back. He needs Indrid to know he won’t stop him if he pulls away.

The taller man shudders, a small, sighing whine leaving him as he rests first his forearms, then his head against the wall. 

Next is a white “X” near his spine, then jagged mark near his waist, each receiving the same chaste kiss as Duck zig-zags a path along Indrid’s back, leaving kisses in his wake until he’s on his knees, mouthing tenderly on a patch that looks like a scattering of white stars. He tastes soap and stale municipal water and beneath it all, Indrid. 

With plenty of time to be stopped, he raises his hands and rests them gingerly on either bony hip. A soft moan echoes under the patter of drops and his kisses begin losing their innocent aims, dragging in a hungry line across Indrid’s skin, stopping only so Duck can nuzzle or rub his cheek in their place, groans he fought to suppress rising little by little up his throat.

He wants to spin Indrid in place, run his lips over every inch of him, he wants to stand and press him into the wall, fuck him gently and patiently while whispering sweet nothings in his ears. 

He needs to do something, anything, or he’s certain he’ll die here on his knees.

“Duck” Indrid has begun shaking, “Duck, I-”

_BeeWooBeeWOO_

The alarm fills the showers with blinking red light.

“Shit!” Duck jumps up as Indrid snaps out of his trance, both of them regarding the info screen above the far bank of lockers. 

“Code 52, looks like I’m gonna be late for work.” Duck grumbles, hurriedly toweling off.

“I’ll wait here until you all return, and assist Ned on the communicator if it is needed.” Indrid puts his glasses back after drying his face.

“Good thinkin.” Duck changes in a flash, jogs to the door, and then turns, “Indrid?”

“Yes?” That head tilt, same as always, same as if nothing had happened.

“We’ll talk about this later, okay? I promise.”


	9. Getting Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A foe emerges with new demands for the Pine Guard. Indrid plans dinner. Duck gets buried. Mama issues some commands.

They don’t talk about it later.

This is not entirely Duck’s fault.

Because when they arrive at the docks, The Quell is waiting for them.

“She hasn’t re-formed all the way.” Barclay whispers as the villain struggles to maintain a humanoid shape, red and black mist swirling and dissipating around a glowing red light.

“Re-formed?” Aubrey whispers back.

“Tell you later.”

**Liars**

“That ain’t good.” Duck takes a half-step in front of his friends. 

**She is gone. They told me she could be found.**

“Who told you?” 

**They said she survived. They lied to me. You lied to me also.**

Aubrey holds up her hands, “Whoah, hang on, we never said Sylvain was-”

Figures appear from the shadows, some human and some much closer to nightmare-versions of wildlife, surrounding the Pine Guard. 

**The equinox will no longer save you.**

The figures drag closer. Duck draws Beacon, Aubrey’s hands cast flickering light across the encroaching enemies. 

Behind him, he swears he hears Mama gasp. 

**You are lucky, you and your ungrateful city. My strength has not yet returned. But it will. And as it grows so too will grow the powers of my servants.**

Growling from the shadows. Barclay growls back. 

“It doesn’t have to be this way. Really, it doesn’t.” Aubrey steps forward only for Mama to grab her shoulder. 

The wind dies down for an instant.

**You are right. It does not.**

“Whew.”

**If you bring me two citizens, it will buy you precious time, though not spare you all outright.**

“Which two of our citizens did you have in mind?”

“Ned!” 

“I'm just being thorough!”

**The two women responsible for her death: Lydia Little and her daughter.**

With that, The Quell dissolves, the red glow sinking from sight. Her minions retreat into the shadows, leaving the members of the Pine Guard shaken in the empty wharf. 

“Aubrey, you go home right now and get your mama. Bring her to my place. Ned, you take her in the Lincoln, it’s the toughest vehicle we got.”

“Mama, our apartment-”

“Ain’t near as fortified as my house. Nevermind The Quell, if anyone else finds out her demand, you’ll have bounty hunters and government men breathin down your necks tryin to hand you over to her.”

“I don’t get it, why does she think we hurt Sylvain? Sylvain died before I was even born.”

“We’ll figure that all out later.” Mama snaps, “now c’mon!”

They bolt towards the waiting car and HoverCat, but as Duck takes one final look behind them, he sees a pair of blank, red eyes watching them go.  
\--------------------------------------------------  
They don’t talk about it later.

This is not entirely Indrid’s fault.

After Duck returned from the wharf, visibly worried, they’d spent all night pouring over what information they could find on Sylvain and The Quell, before collapsing in a paper and infoscreens strewn heap on the floor.

Then they have to keep up the day to day of Duck working and Indrid trying his hand, little by little, at being less of a villain. 

There are ample times for either of them to mention it. Indrid assumes Duck has his reasons for not bringing up the shower, the way he touched him so tenderly he was certain his legs would give from the shock of the unfamiliar feeling. 

Indrid has his reasons as well. They are entirely fear-based. 

Fear of losing the comfortable friendship the two of them have formed. Fear of making Duck uncomfortable, of mistaking normal affection for something more. Fear that if he ruins this, there will be no more tender touches, no more protective arms draped around his shoulder as he sleeps on the couch. 

He swears to himself, in his normal voice in his villain one, that he will not breath a word of what happened in the shower unless Duck does so first. 

Now all he needs to do is find out why Duck said he’d be adjusting the permitted range on his collar tonight. 

It must be for a new training exercise.  
\-------------------------------------------------  
“Have fun on your date tonight.”

“For the last time Juno, it ain’t a date.”

“So what, exactly, are you doin’ after work?” Juno finishes shutting down her computer. 

“I’m takin’, I mean, Indrid and I are goin’ to this art thing downtown. Probably get dinner while we’re out, but that don’t make it a date”

“Art thing? You ain’t ever been much for art.”

“He said it was somethin he enjoyed! Jesus, Juno, I can’t keep the guy cooped up at my place or the base. He deserves a night out.” Duck jams on his hat.

Juno leans against her desk, “What are you wearin’?”

“Shorts and that one shirt with the flamingos on it.”

“Uh huh. The one that you bought cause it makes your arms look good.”

“How the fuck do you know that?”

“Because I was with you when you bought it and said as much, that time I dragged you out to buy new clothes because half your shirts had holes in ‘em.”

“I just hate throwin things out.” He grumbles. 

“I know bud.” Juno pats his shoulder, “have a good time on your date.”

“It ain’t--nevermind.”

He repeats variations of “not a date” to himself on the drive home, the walk to the door, and the few steps into the apartment. 

Indrid is spread out on the couch, so engrossed in drawing that it takes a tap on the shoulder for him to notice Duck is home.

“Oh! Apologies, I got caught up.”

“No worries. Ready to go?”

“In theory, yes, but you have yet to tell me where.”

“Uh, downtown. For the uh, the First Friday thing.”

Indrid springs off the couch, hands flapping excitedly, “Wonderful, let me put on something without massive holes in it and we can be off.”

He disappears to change--his pajama pants are indeed full of holes, as last week Chicken burrowed into them, got stuck, and tried to free herself, mercifully while they were on the floor rather than Indrid--returns wearing black jeans and canary yellow shirt. He taps his glasses and the lenses turn from their standard red to an unassuming grey. 

As soon as Duck changes his clothes and fixes the perimeter allowance on the collar, they’re off. 

Once they’re out of the car downtown, Indrid pulls him immediately into a coffee shop with a large gallery at the back, already filling with couples and quartets and the odd lone patron examining the paintings. They circle the room, Indrid pausing at some images for minutes on end while passing others by. 

Duck feels like he should say something, like it’s odd for him to follow Indrid from canvas to canvas, hands linked like to lovestruck teenagers, without talking much. Yet Indrid seems content with the familiar silence between them, and honestly Duck feels much the same. 

Still, some pieces require commentary.

“That one look like a chicken to you?”

“Hmmm, you know, it rather does. Ah, it seems the artist was going for a play on sexual words and phrases. It’s a cock.”

“Explains the one of the cat next to it.”

“Indeed. Rather clunky, but I enjoy the playfulness of the colors.”

They move on to the next gallery, then one stashed in what must have been an auto garage once upon a time. They take a break for dinner, Indrid buying them waffle grilled-cheese from a foodtruck (he knows Duck well enough to bring him the french onion soup flavored one). 

“Gotta say, not sure how I feel about you treatin me to meal on cash you got bein’ a villain.”

“Would it help to assume it is the money I made selling off Mrs. Winthrops jewels?”

“I can’t give my real answer, they’ll take away my do-gooder card.” Duck grins, scoots closer on the bench they’re sharing. 

“That would be a shame. Oh, ah, you have...a remarkable amount of sauce on your cheek.” Indrid wipes a thumb across Duck’s skin, “there, now you can be seen with me in public once again.”

“Thanks, sugar.”

Indrid smiles. Duck tries to pretend it has nothing to do with the pet name. 

They move onto another gallery, one with more abstract pieces than the previous locations. Indrid has gone in search of water for them, leaving Duck to contemplate green squiggles on a half black and half white canvas. 

“I don’t get it either.” Indrid hands him a small glass.

“Oh, uh-”

“There were a few futures where you said that aloud.”

“Try not to say shit like that when I can avoid it. So people don’t think I’m some, I dunno, uncultured hick.”

“Should anyone intimate such a thing, I will break their wrist.”

“Indrid.”

“Apologies, old habits. I hope you know you never need to keep up such a pretext around me. Honestly, when people attempt to act as though they know the one true meaning of a piece, I bristle. Art isn’t a puzzle, as far as I am concerned. People make it to share something, to create a reaction in others, whether that be bafflement or delight. And so many of us make it, and so many of us love it. It is wonderful, you know, this proof that humans are not creatures of violence or survival and nothing more. That the drive to create beautiful things is so strong.”

Indrid looks down at him , clears his throat, “ah, that, that was more rambling than I intended.”

“Don’t gotta stop on my account.” Duck loops their arms together, “could listen to you talk all night.”

Indrid’s smile catches between happy and sad, “I...I had not realized you found me so interesting outside of needing to thwart me.”

“Interestin? ‘Drid, I think you’re downright fascinatin’.” Duck bumps him playfully to cover the pang of guilt for making him feel that way.

And so Indrid talks, the two of them conversing on the paintings and passersby as they exit the gallery. Duck pointing out the few constellations they can see closely as they walk the city streets, teasing Indrid for the way he perks up at the sight of the gelato place. The ranger than does his best not to trip as he watches Indrid devour his dessert with sounds that are so obscene he’s surprised people aren’t covering their kids ears. 

The drive home is idyllic, Indrid humming along with the radio, the warm summer air drifting through the windows. The streets are a tapestry of lights and movement; fairy lights glint in trees and storefronts, neon splashes from the theaters and bars, and every building teams with a warm glow and the happy din of people going about their evenings. It’s an image made up of a thousand little moments, the kind of mundane peace and happiness he’s thrown his life into peril over and over in order to preserve.

“I begin to see why.” Indrid murmurs into the breeze. Duck can’t tell if it's a response to something he almost said, or some fleeting thought darting through the other man’s mind. All the same, the night feels like everyone is celebrating, and as if somehow, all the beauty and light is just for them.

It’s the kind of night that should end with a kiss. 

It doesn’t.

He’s afraid. Afraid all the little moments between them don’t add up to what he wants them too.

So when Indrid, standing in the door of his bedroom, grins and purrs, “Goodnight, chivalrous one.”

Duck squeezes his chilly fingers and says only, “Night, ‘Drid.”  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Indrid is at the end of what he can stand; the touches, the longing looks, the increased usage of pet names. The recurring, incessant dreams (and daydreams) in which the hero is above, beneath, or beside him, body warm and voice thick with want, with gentle demands for Indrid to surrender.

Had his life been a normal one, he could simply reveal his desires, could be vulnerable and admit the truth of his feelings. 

Instead, he is going to draw on a skill he mastered months ago. He is going to force the Knight to show his hand.

This is the most cunning plan he has ever devised. 

Now if only the person who planned it for would actually arrive.

The clock reads six p.m, and the table in the kitchen is set with two plates, two cocktail glasses (the shaker is chilling in the fridge), and a vase of red roses. Indrid used a remote delivery service to acquire take out from Duck’s favorite place, and spent his afternoon researching the top of everything romantic; top ten romantic songs, top ten romantic scents, top five romantic looks for a stay at home date, top fifteen table settings for ultimate romance, the list is endless. 

He knows Duck got called away for hero business right after his shift at the park, but the futures suggested it would be a short fight. The fact the ranger is not yet home has him pacing, worrying the threads of the clothing he has changed four times in the last hour. 

There are so many futures coming in that he retreats to the couch, pulling out his sketching supplies in hopes of sorting through them to find what’s become of Duck.  
When the door bangs open, he’s on his feet and in a fight stance immediately.

“Indrid, clear space on the couch please!” Barclay has one of Duck’s arms slung over his shoulder, while Leo is supporting the ranger from his other side. 

“Careful now, easy.”

“Would you two, ow, stop fussin? I’m fine.”

“Duck, he brought half a building down on you.”

“Who did?” Indrid flexes his fingers as the chill enters his voice.

“Baron Thorne, old enemy of mine from back in the day.” Leo stretches after laying Duck on the couch, “Got it into his head he was gonna blow an entire section of the Mission District to bits. We subdued ‘im, but only because Duck goaded him into blowin up the buildin he was in and givin’ away his position."

“Thorne, you say?” Indrid repeats, breezily, glasses already scanning for the villain’s civilian name and address. 

“Indrid.” Duck warns, before coughing.

Barclay hands Duck some water, “Yeah, I get the feeling man, but Thorne is a mid-rank villain at best. Don’t blow your, uh, parole? On going after him.”

“Mid-rank? He just brought a building down on my b-, I mean, ah, on _my_ hero.”

“I’m fine.”

“I will be the judge of that. Shirt off.”

“We ran him through the injury scanner in the car on the way here, so we know there are no broken bones or nothin but-” Leo stops when Barclay jerks his head towards the exit, “but it don’t hurt to have an extra set of eyes. Uh, we’ll leave you to it, call us if anythin changes.”

“Understood. Thank you.” Indrid offers a polite nod as they leave, then drops to the floor and begins looking over Duck’s now-bare torso.

“Jesus, it's like they never seen me get buried under rubble before.”

“They are good friends to be so concerned.”

“I know, I know. Mostly just dusty and grumpy from havin’ my night ruined by some ex-tech mogul with a chip on his shoulder.” He notices Indrid still swiftly and carefully checking him over and his voice softens, “It’s alright ‘Drid. Really, I promise.”

“Where did this come from?” Indrid draws a line in the air over a large, ugly bruise on Duck’s stomach, far worse the ones he normally sustains. 

“From the rubble.” Duck’s eyes dart to one side, then other.

“Where did it really come from?”

“From uh, fuck, from the uh, the uh, fuck.” He sighs, “I didn’t tell the others but it was a lot hairier down there than it looked. When the roof came down, the beams came with it, and I ended up with a steel one pinning me down, with all the other rubble on top. Must’ve left that bruise. Lucky that was all it did.”

“You had trouble freeing yourself?” Indrid’s insides are churning.

Duck nods, “Took damn near all of my strength to do it. That and, uh, somethin’ else.”

“Oh?”

“Thinkin about you. How, if I didn’t get myself out, I might never see you again. Turns out that lights a fire under my ass real quick.”

“I matter that much to you?”

“Yep. Indrid, I-”

He doesn’t let Duck finish, the kiss brief yet decisive. 

When he pulls back, what he gets is a startled, worried looking Duck, and the little courage he has dashes out the window. 

“A-apologies, I, I, that seemed as though that was the logical thing to do. To, ah, to show you your feelings were reciprocated. But it must not have been, I, I should go.” Standing quickly, he nearly makes it past the kitchen before Duck catches up to him, having pulled his undershirt back on.

“‘Drid, wait, I-” the hero looks around, taking in the decor and Indrid’s clothing for the first time, making him want to shrink all the more, “I’m gettin the feelin you were plannin on kissin me tonight one way or another.” Duck sounds a little amused.

“No, I was planning on kissing you if you admitted to having romantic feelings for me, an admission which the evening I planned was designed to catalyze.”

“So you been wantin’ to kiss me for a while?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” Ducks smile is a puzzled one.

“What part of this” he points to the kitchen and the now-extinguished candles, “suggests someone who excels at casual admissions of feeling?”

Duck rests a hand on each of his shoulders, “Indrid, I want the same thing.”

“But just now you--oh you have got to be joking.”

“I’m not. I think. Assumin I’m about to say what you saw me sayin’. Indrid, I want you so fuckin’ bad, but I can't act on it. It wouldn’t be right, not with the tracker and all the other shit. I got a lot of power over where you can go or whether you get in trouble with the Department, and I, I just” he looks down, “I can’t stand the idea that you might agree to do somethin with me because you thought I’d restrict you more if you didn’t.”

Indrid stares at the hero. His hero, brave and strong and so noble he could scream. 

“Duck, look at me.” 

He waits until Duck complies, then reaches up to the back of the collar. After a moment of fiddling, the band pops open and he pulls it off. Clicking his tongue draws Chicken from her hiding spot, and he loops the silver circle around her middle. 

“So the ‘it’s off the body’ alarm can’t sound, and so my coordinates do not look suspicious.” He unlatches the collar from the feline, fits it back around his throat. 

“How long have you been able to do that?”

“A week.”

“You, all this time you been able to get free whenever you wanted and haven’t because, what, this is all part of a plan or somethin’?” Hurt and suspicion creep into Duck’s voice.

“No.”

“Then why?”

“Because I wanted to stay. Even without the threat of The Flame, or anyone else looking for me if I went back out to my old life, I want to stay here. With you. I, I want” his breathing is betraying him, coming faster, “I want to be with you.”

Duck takes a half-step forward, cupping Indrid’s cheek with his left hand. Then warm, curious lips trace along his own, pressure growing incrementally, the hero savoring the kiss, chuckling softly when Indrid’s hands grab his hips with a pathetic over-eagerness. 

“S’alright, sugar. You can hold me however you want.” Lips brush his cheek, his jaw, his throat before returning to his mouth, lips parting in hopes of enticing Duck’s tongue between them. The rangers other hand slides into his hair, cradling his head. Each time the kiss seems ready to end Duck breaks away for a heartbeat only to come back stronger, and Indrid matches him, humming contentedly when Duck brushes their noses together, lips still plucking little sounds from Indrid’s chest. 

“I want us to be together too, ‘Drid. I wanna know what that feels like, wanna show you just how much you mean to me, how fuckin crazy about you I am.”

The warmth in Duck’s eyes rekindles his courage.

“In that case, chivalrous one, take me to bed.”


	10. Firsts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duck has a moth in his bed. Indrid is at the mercy of his enemy.

Duck doesn’t so much take Indrid to bed as follow him there, the kisses becoming fiercer every time one of them returns from making sure they’re not about to collide with furniture or stumble on a stray cat toy.

By the time Indrid bumps into Duck’s bed and sits down, one long, steady whimpering noise is winding out of him. Duck climbs into his lap, kissing his brow, the urge to sooth the little sounds rapidly losing ground to the urge to pin Indrid down. 

“Too, too much.” Indrid pulls back and Duck is ready to step away, give him space, when long fingers tug at his shirt, “you are wearing too much. As am I.”

Duck yanks off his undershirt, the removal of his pants stalled by Indrid lunging forward to kiss a line across his chest.

“Sugar, sugar OH _o_ kay” Duck laughs as an eager tongue circles his left nipple, “you gotta let me up to get the rest off.”

“Tomorrow I am inventing an automatic clothing disintegrator.” Indrid huffs, releasing him.

“Not sure I want anythin with the word ‘disintegrator’ in it anywhere near my dick.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Indrid tosses his shirt behind him, fumbles with the button on his jeans.

“You, uh, you want me to stop here?” Duck gestures to his lower half, now clad only in boxers. 

“I want all of it, all of you, just as I want to show you all--blasted denim-- of me.” Indrid kicks his legs free and Duck learns two things at once.

One: Indrid is not wearing underwear.

Two: There is about to be a change of plans.

“ _Jesus_.” He growlsighs.

“Is that a good, ah, oh, oh it seems so.” Indrid leans back as Duck crawls on top of him, the two of them shifting and wiggling until they’re all the way on the bed.

“Good? Sugar, I’m half-hard just from lookin at you. That ain’t happened in quite a while.” Duck kisses his chin, then his lips, then the tip of his nose. Then his own reflection catches his eye, and he brings one hand up to touch the frame of his red glasses. 

“You want these to stay on?”

“Yes, please, for now. I, is that?” Behind the lenses, his eyes go shy.

“It’s more than fine, ‘Drid. I wanna be with you however you feel comfortable.”

Another whimper as Indrid cranes his neck for a kiss that Duck gladly delivers, keeping his weight on one arm while his other hand strokes and caresses Indrid’s face. He knows there’s still dust in his hair, sweat on his back from digging his way out of rubble, but if Indrid is bothered he shows no sign of it, hands racing along Duck’s back and tangling in his hair.

“Gettin excited on me?” He teases as something solid and already wet with pre-cum bumps his thigh.

“No, it is a mini-death ray. I have been hiding it this whole time.” Indrid just manages to deadpan, breaking into a smile as Duck kisses his cheek.

“Well, guess I better investigate then.” Duck begins a trail down Indrid’s neck, pausing to nip and kiss his collarbone. 

“Please do. Mmmmmm, oh, Duck, OH GOODNESS”

“Ow.”

“I am so sorry.” Indrid pulls his arm back from where it’s just jabbed an elbow into Duck’s shoulder, “I, I do not know why that happened.”

“Guess I hit a sensitive spot.”

“Y-yes, that must be it.”

“Should I keep goin’?”

“God, yes, please, oh” Indrid relaxes back as Duck pauses to kiss his shaking hand before dipping down to explore the tan belly dusted with dark hair towards the bottom.

This time, a knee catches him in the stomach.

“Uh, ‘Drid, is there somethin’ goin’ on?”

“I, I have a sinking feeling my reflexes are working against us. No one has ever touched me like this, and therefore it is an unfamiliar stimulus. It is as if my reflexes are reading the intense sensation in vulnerable areas as danger and kicking in before I can stop them.”

“Damn, those are some reflexes.”

“They are the kind you get when you are trained from a young age to keep from dying.” Indrid is flushing all up his chest and neck, head turned to the side in shame. 

“You want me to try again? Maybe third time’s the charm.”

“I would like that.”

Duck shifts so he’s sitting up a little, hoping that seeming less like he’s looming or keeping Indrid trapped might help the issue. He bends forward, trying to kiss near Indrid’s heart.

Then he’s on his back on the floor, Indrid having kicked him all the way off the mattress. 

“Damn it all.” Indrid grumbles before appearing at the edge of the bed, helping Duck up. Then he curls his knees to his chest, sitting with his chin resting on them and his face resolutely away from Duck.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay sugar, I know you ain’t doin’ it on purpose.”

“That does not matter. I can’t let you close, even when I wish to.”

Duck soothingly strokes his back, “if we need to slow down or stop , or if your nerves are gettin the better of you, we can do that. I don’t want to do anythin you don’t want.”

“But I want _this_!” Indrid’s head snaps up and his hands fly about in gestures as he talks, “I want it more than I have wanted anything in a long, long time. I have spent week after week imagining you hand on my cock, your voice in my ears as you tell me exactly what to do and how to do it. I have cum at least once a day this last week to the thought of you fucking me, all the ways that strength of yours could help you use me for your pleasure.”

“Fuck.” Duck breathes deep; as much as he wants that, he can’t let it cloud his judgement, “‘Drid, that all sounds so good. It’s just, how do I know I ain’t hurtin you somehow if we keep goin’? You gone through some rough shit, and I am _through_ bein’ another source of pain in your life.”

“You can trust me. Trust me to tell you what I do and do not want.” Indrid uncurls, cupping Duck’s cheeks imploringly. The ranger studies him, searching for the signs of a bluff, the ones he learned the hard way in their early days. He finds none.

“Okay.”

Indrid beams, surreptitiously wipes a stray, frustrated tear away before pulling Duck into his arms. Duck takes a moment to calm himself in his arms; it may be Indrid’s first time, but Duck’s sure as hell never been in a situation quite like this before. 

“That still don’t exactly solve the problem of your villain trainin’ runnin’ so deep it cockblocks us.”

Indrid taps a finger on Duck’s forearm as he thinks. Then a new, downright wicked smile crosses his face.

“Well, if my limbs won’t cooperate at present, we shall simply have to tie them up.” 

Duck groans, kissing his shoulder.

“Oh you _do_ like that.”

“Hell fuckin’ yeah I do. As uh, as long as we do it in a way that don’t hurt you.”

“Still so chivalrous.” Indrid murmurs, reclining, “I am sure you can think of something.”

Duck hops off the bed, kneeling down to pull a box from underneath it. 

“I sense this is something you have done before.” Indrid watches as Duck sets a pair of hand-cuffs, some rope, and leg restraints on the blankets beside him.

“Guess I like havin’ my partners at my mercy, so to speak.” Duck considers the rope, before stashing it back in the box, “hands above your head.”

“That gives you the honor of being the first hero to have Indrid Cold truly at his mercy.” Indrid rests his hands by the headboard.

“Gonna be the first to have you some other ways, too.” Duck crawls up Indrid’s body, straddling his upper chest as he loops the cuffs around a bar in the headboard and carefully guides Indrid’s wrists into them.

“I can’t help but feel you are trying to tell me something.” Indrid says dryly, eyes never leaving the outline of Duck’s cock, now very close to his face. 

“Just givin’ you a peek at what you’re doin’ to meOH, oh ‘Drid.” He pets silvery hair as the taller man mouths at his boxers, humming against the clothed shaft.

“Later, sugar. Lemme get your feet tied down.” Duck moves to the bottom of the bed, settles on securing Indrid’s ankles to each short bedpost, leaving his lower half spread-eagle. The position lets him see the lines of muscle in those lean legs, the scars dotting them, and a hard, eager cock between his thighs.

Christ he wants to pounce on him, fuck him open until he sobs with pleasure.

First things first.

“Cuffs got a quick release at the center, so if you really need out you can.” He runs his hands up Indrid’s legs, “if you need out of the ankle ones, tell me and I can pull ‘em off fast.” His fingers pause their ascent at Indrid’s hips, dip in and down to thumb at the sensitive skin at the top of his thighs. 

Indrid’s legs jolt, trying to pull in, but remain trapped. Indrid sits part-way up to look at them, then beams, “It worked.”

“Damn right. Which means…” Duck lowers his head, planting quick kisses along Indrid’s stomach, then up to his shoulder, “All you gotta do is lay back and let me take care of you.”

“Al-alright, oh, oh god.” Indrid’s voice grows softer with each kiss, although the little sighs never cease “this, this is really happening?”

“Yep.” Duck nips the skin over his collarbone, “unless you need it not to.”

“N-no. I, it is just, I do not know what to expect.”

“Can’t you look at the future?” He flicks his tongue across Indrid’s right nipple, and all his limbs try to curl inwards, even as he gasps and smiles.

“Sex seems, ah, that is, it is very fluid. Things change or stop or continue constantly, b-based on what each person wants.”

Duck thinks for a moment, noticing that talking seems to help Indrid feel at ease. 

“You ever imagine what your first time would be like?”

“Yes.” Indrid nods, blushing harder, “in, in the beginning I assumed it would be hard and rushed, as, as most things were.”

A pang reverberates through Duck at those words, and he hurries back up to kiss Indrid tenderly on the lips before returning to scatter kisses along his ribcage and belly. 

“Then I, I often pictured it in hotels. A celebrity or passerby or waiter who had caught my eye would suffice as the star--oh, oh _yes_ \--and I imagined myself bent over on some bed.” He wiggles, arms and legs still jerking, as Duck nuzzles and kisses his inner thigh. He leaves his cock be for now, both of them enjoying this build-up too much to rush it.  
“I imagined it would be friendly but impersonal, open myself up with my fingers while envisioning someone hurriedly pounding into me. I am inexperienced, not naive, so at times I’d add in some bonds or toys, but the scenario was always the same.”

“That all?” He can’t lift Indrid’s legs to lavish them with kisses at the moment, so he pets and strokes them as his lips continue exploring Indrid’s lower belly.

“There, there is one more. But you will think it silly.”

“Scouts honor I won’t.” He looks up, finds Indrid’s face the shyest he’s ever seen it.

“In, ah, more, more recent times, I would imagine it very differently. The object of fantasy would, ah, would carry me into some large, soft bed, make everything look perfect the way it does in, hmmm, diamond advertisements perhaps?”

“Rose petals and shit like that?”

“Exactly. And it would take all night. I’d, I would edge myself in bed, or come several times in the course of imagining it.”

“What would this, uh, someone do durin that night?” Duck sits up, drawing his finger in heart-shapes across the sensitive skin of Indrid’s torso, the other man shivering with each twirl of his finger.

“He’d…” Indrid bites his lip, so bashful Duck can’t believe this is the same man who used to confidently taunt him on a regular basis, “he would go slow, touch me everywhere he could, spend the hours tending to my every desire even as I turned to mush and would beg him to use me how he saw fit. He would spoil me, kiss me, when it was over he would hold me, clean me up and fuss over me as if I were royalty rather than some hissing villain.” Indrid’s gaze shifts out of memory and into the present, and he flinches away from Duck’s encouraging smile, “Goodness, I just hear myself say all of that and it remains humiliating.” His hands try to cover his face, stymied by the cuffs. 

“What would he start with?” Duck asks, faux-casual. 

“His hand on my cock, warm and OHohohoh, oh goodness, yes, like that.” Indrid gasps and arches as Duck steadily strokes him. The hero chuckles when the villain’s toes start curling after only a few seconds. 

“Duck, Duck _please_.” Indrid’s voice is cracking, his fingers flexing as his hips pump in time with Duck’s strokes. 

“Don’t worry sugar, whatever it is, I’ll take care of it.”

“I know, I know you will, take care of me, take me, please, please my sweet, I am so close.”

“Already? Damn, you really are a virgin.”

Indrid whines, abs tensing as Duck laughs low.

“You, with all those handsome features runnin’ around for years and I get to be the one to, uh, sully your purity.”

“That, that is a ridiculous sentiment in, in many, oh goodness, many ways.”

“Yeah, but you seem to like it. Hips start goin’ wild when I talk like that.”

“Because I, I want you, want you to take me, claim me, oh god I am going to stop speaking now. I sound ridiculous, like some teenager who has read too many romance novels.”

“Sound like a horny little virgin to me.”

A loud whine coupled with a shameless smile.

“Don’t worry about me claimin you. When you’re good and tired I’m gonna cum all up and down you so you remember exactly who got to you first.”

There’s a keening noise underscored by a metallic smack as Indrid pulls against his restraints and cums down Duck’s hand.

Before Duck can even pull away, Indrid is thrusting again, whimpering with each motion.

“You need me to-”

“Don’t stop, please, I want another one, I want to cum for you over and over so you, you can see how much I am enjoying myself.”

“ _Fuck_ that’s hot.” Duck tightens his hold, giving Indrid more friction.

“T-thank you.” Indrid’s shyness is evaporating, his wicked grin returning, and his arms and legs aren’t trying to free themselves nearly as often. 

“Thaaaat’s it sugar, fuck my fist, show me just how good I’m treatin you.”

“So good, so very good, ah, AH” Indrid kicks the bedpost when Duck thumbs over the head, “again, please do that again.”

Duck circles his thumb, adds pressure with each pass, and Indrid cums again, streaking his fingers. 

“Damn, you weren’t kiddin about be able to cum more than once--what do you think you’re doin’?” Duck arches an eyebrow as Indrid tries desperately to keep thrusting.

“Trying for another?”

“That really comfortable for you?”

“I’ll have you know I am trained to handle a great deal of discomfort, noooo.” He pouts as Duck pulls his hand back, denying him stimulation.

“That ain’t what I asked you. We can keep goin’ but only if it feels good, not if it’s just a kind of bad you can stand.”

“I, I do not see why that matters.”

Duck pins his hips down, and Indrid moans when he finds he can’t move even an inch.

“It matters because there’s a big fuckin difference between pain in bed that’s more fun than hurtful, the kind you play around with because you think you deserve pleasure, and the pain you chase after when you think the only way you deserve pleasure is if you get punished for it afterwards. Which one of those are you feelin?”

“The, the first one. With you it is always the first one.”

Duck leans forward, lips nearly touching Indrid’s, which are slick from saliva and parted from panting.

“Say it.”

Indrid whimpers, wriggles his hips only for Duck to press down harder.

“Say. It. Tell me what you deserve.” It’s not a threat, but his tone leaves no room for argument.

“I deserve” Indrid swallows, tries again, “I deserve pleasure.” He looks at Duck, eyes wet behind his glasses, “right?”

“Uh huh.” Duck replies softly, kissing him tenderly before whispering against his lips, “you deserve the whole goddamn world.”

With that he sits up, wraps his fingers around Indrid’s cock and slowly drags them up the softening shaft. Indrid’s gasping purr becomes a ragged moan.

“Are, are these walls soundproof?”

“Yep. Why?”

“You will see shortlyEEEhhhAH, Duck, ahnnnnn.” Indrid cries out, thrashing as Duck jacks him off as hard and fast as he dares, suspecting that will get his cock to perk up. It does, though Indrid’s cries and pleas for more only increase as it does, his once-eloquent foe babbling in ecstasy.

“Yes, yesyesyesthankyou, thank you, oh, oh it's so much, too much, god it is too much but it feels so good, more, please, please.” He cums weakly over his own belly, still begging for more. Sweat trickles down his forehead, pale hair sticking in place, and down his chest. 

“I’ll give you one more, if you can be patient.”

“I will, I swear, I will not move a muscle all night if that is what it takes.”

“Nothin so extreme.” Duck strokes his cheek, “I’m gonna go grab you some water. Can’t have you passin’ out on me.”

“Don't, don’t be gone too long.” Indrid’s voice is small.

“I won’t. Count to sixty, promise I’ll be back before you’re done.”

Indrid counts, voice shaky, as Duck hurries as fast as his own hard-on will let him, grabbing a water glass, filling it, and returning before Indrid hits forty-five.

Duck cups the back of his head, supporting him as he tips the glass against his lips. Indrid drains half of it, relaxes back with a sigh.

“Thank you.”

“Any time, sugar. Now, since you were so good and patient,” Duck rummages in the box, pulls out a small, vibrating cock ring, “you can come one more time. If you still want to.”

“Please.” Indrid lifts his hips, nuding his cock towards Duck.

“Here’s what we're gonna do; you’re gonna wear this for as long as it takes me to come all over you. Guessin’ it’ll make you come before I do, but if it don’t, promise I’ll get you off when I’m done. Deal?”

Indrid is nodding before Duck even says the last word. 

Duck slides the vibrator over the head of his cock and switches it on. By the time he’s dumped lube on his palm and his frantically stroking himself, the slick sound is drowned out by Indrid, voice hoarse as he moans and cries out.

“Fuck, lookit you, not so innocent now, all tied up and beggin to cum like it’s all you were born to do, like all you’re meant for is just, fuck, cumming and look so goddamn good in my bed.”

“I, I was never innocent, merely inexperienced” Indrid pants, legs shaking, “I was literally stealing when you met me.”

“It’s dirty talk, sugar.” Duck smiles, teasingly. 

“Oh, oh yes, I, I know. I am simply being contrary. Though the view, ah goodness, makes it hard to do so.”

“Yeah, you like watchin me get off?”

“Yes.” Indrid licks his lips.

Duck straddles Indrid, sitting on his knees so he can gingerly hook one finger beneath the tracker, “Like knowin’ I’m about to show you you’re all mine.”

“ _Yes_.” 

“Good, because you are, darlin’, you’re mine to look after and mine to tie up”

“God” Indrid sobs, cumming, whimpering pitifully when the vibrations don’t stop.

“and mine to fuck and mine to please. _Mine_ , fuck, ‘Drid, ‘Drid.” He growls, cum spattering up Indrid’s stomach and sides. 

It’s only when he collapses forward after shutting off the toy that he hears Indrid.

“Belong, just want to belong to you, please let me, I just want to belong, to be-”

Shit, shit how long has he been crying for? 

Duck unclips the cuffs in a flash and Indrid’s arms immediately embrace him, his face pressed against Duck’s shoulder. 

“Shhh, shhh, I got you sugar, I got you.”

“I know” a deep inhale, a deep exhale, repeated three times before Indrid adds, “I know.”

“You want me to undo your feet?”

“Yes, please.”

Duck removes the loops, and by the time he does Indrid’s expression is one of pure, exhausted delight.

“That was incredible.”

“Yeah?” Duck smiles back, laughing a little at the joy coming from his partner.

“I never imagined it would feel that way, that I would feel so overwhelmed with pleasant sensation and so safe.” He scoots closer, petting Duck’s chest, “was it pleasurable for you?”

“That don’t even get close to how good it was. Christ, ‘Drid, seein’ you like that, makin’ you feel good, knowin you trust me enough to let me tie you up it’s all just...it’s like someone grabs the horny dial in my brain and cranks it to eleven.”

Indrid grins, leans in for a kiss, humming again as he slowly comes closer and closer, until Duck has a Moth in his lap. 

“Is this, that is, do you want this to be something more? I, I am content to be simply, uh, fuck-buddies? If that is what you’d like.” Indrid is biting his lip again. 

Duck bumps their heads together playfully, “hey.”

Indrid looks up.

“You wanna be my boyfriend?”

Indrid nods, slowly at first, then faster as his hands begin to flap, only cut off by him wincing.

“Shit, your wrist okay?” Duck carefully lifts his palm.

“Yes, I am just a bit tender from being tied up. Although I do enjoy those cuffs; I find certain fabrics unpleasant to touch, but the fake fur is quite nice.”

“Glad they fit the bill.” Duck stands, kisses the top of Indri’s head, “be right back.”

He returns with a wet washcloth, a Capri Sun, and some ice and muscle in case Indrid wants it for his wrists or legs. Forms the pillows into a nest for Indrid to recline against (and in) while Duck cleans him off. His boyfriend dreamed of being fussed over? Duck will become a goddamn fussing champion, he’ll take gold in the thirty-yard fuss at the Olympics if it means Indrid will be happy. 

He showers briefly and changes into fresh boxers, helps Indrid into his pajamas and cuddles him close as he yawns. There are moments where he suddenly clings to Duck a little tighter, or shudders rather than breathes evenly, and Duck holds him even closer, strokes his hair and promises him he’s not going anywhere. That he’ll look after him. That Indrid is safe with him, that he cares for him.

(He almost says he loves him).

“You truly wish to be my boyfriend?” Indrid murmurs, half-asleep with Duck’s head on his chest.

“Mmmhmm.”

Indrid nestles closer, “Then I will do my best to be worthy of such a title.”


	11. Learning to be Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duck and Indrid continue their relationship, even as trouble draws near. Duck makes coffee. Mama tells a story. Indrid gets messy.

Duck’s wake up call is the same as always; Chicken hopping onto the bed and meowing for her breakfast. 

“M’ gettin up, hold on.” He mumbles.

“Noooo.” Wiry arms tighten around his middle, and as he blinks his eyes open he notices red glasses sitting on the bedside table.

“Meow” the cat turns her attention to his bedmate, batting Indrid’s nose as he squints his eyes shut.

He burrows under the covers, “very well, I know when I am beaten.” 

Duck kisses the top of his head before pulling on his bathrobe, going to feed the cat and start the coffee pot. He checks his phone and communicator, thankfully finds no disasters that need addressing or messages to come in for a last-minute meeting with the Pine Guard. And it’s his day off. 

He has some ideas on how to spend it. 

“Mew?” Chicken, breakfast finished, is batting frustratedly under the fridge and intermittently turning sad eyes onto her owner.

“Did you knock that catnip moth under there again?” He gets down on his stomach, sliding a piece of junk mail into the gap so he can knock the toy back out. It skitters out, and Chicken pounces and bats until she's out of view.

Cooing from the hall tells him Indrid has followed him out, and his boyfriend comes into view, still wearing his black pajamas patterned with, what else, moths.

“Have you soothed the savage beast?”

“Yep. You hungry?”

“Yes...” Indrid circles the counter, pressing Duck back against it and resting a hand on either side of him, “but not for food.”

“You ain’t worn out at all from last night?”

“Supervillain, remember?” Indrid grins, then adds hurriedly, “of course, if you are not in the mood I will not complain and am happy to have breakfAH!” The taller man squawks as Duck hoists him over one shoulder with ease. 

“Nope. Superhero, remember?”

“Well played, chivalrous one.” Indrid chuckles as Duck carries him to the bedroom, continues laughing even after the Knight puts him down, making for an amusing picture when he tries to kiss Duck at the same time. 

“That might be the best damn sound I’ve ever heard.”

Indrid blushes, hiding his face against Duck’s neck. The surge of affection nearly sends Duck to his knees, filling him with the need to find a million ways to show Indrid just what he means to him. 

There’s an oft-forgotten easy chair in the corner of his room, and he guides Indrid to it, sitting while the other man, judging from the look on his face, sees what Duck is about to offer.

“Do you really want me to?”

“Yep. Be lyin’ if I said there weren’t some, uh, self-interest involved” he unties his robe and pulls off his boxers, “but seems to me you been wantin to try this a long time.”

Indrid drops to his knees, fingers splaying across Duck’s thighs as he opens them. Then he stops.

“One moment.” Indrid removes his glasses, sets them a safe distance away before slowly and hesitantly looking up at Duck.

The ranger isn’t expecting the red, faintly glowing irises that regard him, and it must show on his face, because Indrid starts curling inwards.

“I know, they are-”

“Stunnin.” Duck cuts him off, reaching out to cup his chin.

Indrid blinks, “That is not the usual descriptor.”

“Should be.” Duck bends forward, kissing him until the fear seeps out of his shoulders and he whimpers happily. Pulls back to gently kiss each of his shut eyelids.

Indrid purrs, the sound taking several seconds to form into the words, “shall I continue?”

“Please do.” Duck opens his legs so Indrid can settle between them. His boyfriend studies his cock, as if trying to formulate some master plan of approach. Usually that much scrutiny on his dick would make him nervous. But Indrid’s gaze drips with appreciation.

“You, ah, you realize I have never done this before, and therefore the odds of it being skilled or, indeed, good are rather low.”

“Don’t worry, sugar, I’ll help you out.” He pets Indrid’s head reassuringly. 

“I just...I do not wish to disappoint you.”

“You won’t. Don’t gotta rush either; we got all day.”

Indrid takes a deep breath, then circles his fingers around the base of Duck’s still-soft cock with a determined look on his face.

“Start with the tip, yeah, like that.”

Indrid’s tongue licks experimentally and Duck groans at the teasing flashes of pleasure. Slender fingers slowly stroke up and down as Indrid takes the head into his mouth with a small moan. His mouth, like his hands, are cooler than expected and Duck shudders and the new sensation. Indrid, encouraged by his reaction, sucks greedily as his cock hardens under his touch.

“Yeah, fuck, see, you learn fast, ohfuck ain’t that a sight.” He watches, entranced, as Indrid pulls off only to drag his tongue from base to tip, eyes shut with delight.

“Look at me when, fuck, when you do that, yeah, good boy.” 

Red eyes widen at the compliment and Indrid whines, gaze locked on Duck’s as the steady, precise licks turn messy and eager.

“Like that, sugar?”

Indrid pauses, panting, head cocked, “yes, was, was that not obvious?”

“Dirty talk.”

“Ah, yes, right” Indrid flushes deeper, nosing and kissing along the shaft, “I, ah, perhaps I should quiet myself.”

“Don’t got to on my accou-OHfuck, I, I see what you’re gettin at.” Duck flops back in the chair as Indrid takes him into his mouth, one hand still steadying the base of his cock while the other teases at his balls. 

“Fuck, ain’t I the lucky one, gettin to be the first to fuck that stunnin’ face of yours, fuck, ‘Drid, whoah, easy sugar, easy.” Duck sits up as Indrid pulls off, coughing from having tried to take in too much. He rubs his back until his breathing returns to normal.

“It always looks so easy.” He mutters.

“Trust me, you ain’t the first person to do just that.” He cringes at the memories bubbling to the surface.

“But I want all of you.”

“I know, and you’re uh,” he tries a theory, praying he’s right, “you’re bein’ such a good boy, tryin so hard to take my whole cock down that tight little throat right away.”

Indrid moans loudly, cuddles closer and Duck notices his cock tenting his black pajama shorts. 

“You like bein’ good for me, don’t you darlin’?”

“Yes.” Indrid whimpers.

“Like knowin I’ll give you whatever you want, spoil you to pieces in this here bed, long as you do what you’re told?”

Another whimper, wordless, as his hips twitch uselessly in the air. Duck lays back, releasing him before nudging his head forward. 

“Make me come, don’t worry about how, so long as I get to be the first to spill down your throat.”

“Yes, yes, I will, oh, oh Duck” Indrid is licking and kissing his cock between words, “I cannot believe you are letting me do this.” He manages to get the first few inches comfortably in his mouth, humming as he sucks and swirls his tongue, repeating the ones that make Duck moan loudest.

“Anytime you, fuck, want. Oh yeah, oh _fuck_ yeah, keep doin’ that with your hand, fuck, you better fuckin’ stay put, y’hear, fuck I’m so fuckin’ close sugar.” He lightly threads his fingers into silvery hair, barely tugging, “look at me, yeah, that’s it good, fuck, good boy, wanna see exactly what you look like when I fuckin’ cum all down that tight fuckin throat, good boy, good-fuckfuck _fuck_.” There’s a distinct, nasal gasp and frantic, choking swallow as Indrid does as he’s told, drinking Duck down like he’ll die if he doesn’t.

When he finally pulls off, his head immediately rests on Duck’s thigh.

“That fit the bill?” Duck brushes his hair from his eyes, leaves his fingers there to stroke Indrid’s cheek.

“I maintain the appeal of someone allowing you to do that is underplayed in popular media.” Indrid grins up at him, nuzzling his belly.

“Everythin’ I said was okay?”

“Indeed. I, I am sorry, I know it would be easier if I could just tell you what I like to be called, but well, so far I have been as surprised as you by the words I enjoy.” His apologetic smile is matched by his tone. 

“I sure as hell don’t mind learnin it together, so long as you tell me when somethin ain’t okay.”

“You have my word that I shall.”

“Plus, kinda fun findin’ all these ways to get you hot under the collar.” He tugs the tracker playfully and Indrid shivers. 

“Indeed.” He kisses Duck’s hand before it drifts out range, drums his fingers on Ducks leg.

“...May we try that one again?” Indrid looks up hopefully.

“Christ alive, what have I unleashed?” Duck giggles as Indrid nips and sucks his way across his belly. 

“Someone who would dearly like to spend all day with his mouth on your cock.”

“Not sure we can swing all day, but we can sure as hell do it again. One sec” He runs a hand over his cock, testing to see if it’s too sensitive for more, and grins when it isn’t.

“Alright, we’re good. But we’re gonna do things a little different this time. You’re gonna get that nice cock of yours out and fuck your hand while I fuck your face. That sound good?”

“Yes.” Indrid’s pants are already mid-air, landing on the other side of the bed.

Duck beckons him closer and soon Indrid is leaning in, lips parted. He lets him get adjusted, tongue twitching beneath his shaft, before taking his head in his hands. 

“Now, you just keep your jaw and neck relaxed and let me do the work up here. If it hurts or you need me to stop, tap my leg twice.”

Indrid looks up with an intrigued smirk “I could just pull away on my own. I am rather strong.”

“You forget who you’re up against?” Duck pulls his head back down and holds him in place. Indrid tries to pull away, the moan he makes when he can’t sending shockwaves down Duck’s cock and up his spine.

“Like I said; you need me to stop, use that signal.”

Indrid nods. The looks up at him expectantly.

“Ain’t startin til you do.”

There’s a little, sharp inhale around the head of his cock as Indrid starts touching himself. Duck waits a few strokes, then slowly guides Indrid’s head down, stopping when he meets the resistance of his throat. Holds him there a beat, then drags him back up and almost off. Repeats the motion, a little faster now, Indrid moaning all the while.

“Damn, think I found my new favorite toy. Gonna do this at least once a day it feels so good.”

Indrid preens, hand moving faster on his cock, breath coming in puffs across Duck’s skin. 

“Can’t believe you got that worked up just from blowin me. You really are a needy, horny virgin, ain’t you?”

He pulls Indrid up so he can answer.

“Y-yes, but, but, it's just, you, you let me, you aren’t afraid to let me.” 

Duck pushes him back down and gets a rapturous moan, “No, I’m not. Y’know why? Because I ain’t scared of you, all those sharp bits you got to you, because I know all I gotta do is coo over you and fuck you the way someone shoulda been fuckin you for years and you’ll behave. I ain’t scared because from now on, fuck, I’m yours and you’re _mine_.”

Indrid moans louder, and Duck can just see his hips beginning to stutter.

“Fuck it feels good when you moan.”

The mouth around him tenses, whimpers spilling out the corners as Indrid cums.

“There, ain’t you just perfect sugar, comin’ from just a little face-fuckin. You wanna keep bein’ good for me?”

A frantic nod, red eyes a bit watery at the edges.

“When I come, don’t try’n swallow this time. Wanna see it spill out, wanna, fuck, wanna see you a fuckin mess just from pleasin’ me, that’s it, fuck, c’mon.” He grips Indrid’s head harder, jerking up into it, Indrid clinging to his legs, leaving little scratches each time he hits resistance. 

“C’mon, _c'mon_ , fuck. ‘Drid, gonna make a mess of you, gonna fuck this perfect mouth ‘til it’s raw, that’s it sugar, lemme see how good you can be, fuckfuck, darlin, let’s see if you can handle this.” He holds Indrid in place, pumping into his mouth as he cums. There’s a splutter and Indrid’s lips go limp, his head heavy as it seeps out the edges and back down Duck’s shaft. 

Duck pulls out before he’s all the way spent, Indrid’s lips getting extra drops as a result. He keeps Indrid hunched forward, gasping and moaning as cum runs down his chin and neck, occasionally hitting Duck’s legs. 

There’s a weak, empty swallow, and Duck lets go. 

Indrid sits up, shakily wiping his mouth. Duck holds his breath, suddenly worried he pushed too far, missed the signal, did something to hurt what is rapidly becoming the person who matters most to him in the world.

“ _Fuck_.” Groans, his wide, awestruck smile splitting across his face. 

Duck relaxes, cups his cheeks, “Damn, must've been really something to make you curse.” 

“It was. Duck that, you’re, everything is so wonderful. Sticky. But wonderful.”

“You can say that again. You were so good for me darlin, you were just fuckin incredible. I’ll go get somethin to clean you up.” Duck kisses the top of Indrid’s head before wobbling with post-orgasmic unsteadiness into the bathroom to retrieve a washcloth. Indrid is slumped against the chair when he returns, and he helps him up onto the bed so he can sit beside him and clean his face.

“You uh, you know I trust you for other reasons, right? It ain’t just that I think if I keep you dick-drunk you’ll behave.”

Indrid laughs softly, “Yes, my sweet, I know. For all my, ah, tendency to answer rhetorical questions, I am aware of how dirty talk tends to oversimplify things.”

“Oh, uh, good. Just, uh, didn’t want you thinkin I don’t know how big a deal it’s been for you this last little while. Tryin’ to be more a hero and less a villain. I know that can’t be easy. I just, uh, it means so goddamn much to me that you’re tryin’.”

Indrid strokes his hair, murmurs, “Thank you. You are right, it is not as easy for me as I would like. And it is in many ways hard to think I have that desire to do good within me. But then again” he smiles, kisses Duck’s cheek, “perhaps it helps that I have someone for whom I wish to be a good man.”  
\------------------------------------------------------  
“Where would you like this box, Mrs. Little?”

“You can call me Lydia, Indrid, it’s alright. And on the table is fine” 

“Yes. Right.” Indrid sets the box of clothes on the table of the underground living room. Duck wasn’t kidding about Mama’s house being well-fortified; Indrid has to admire her construction of an entire subterranean cottage. 

He’s helping Aubrey and the others move her mother to safety, with the aid of the same vehicle he uses to move hideouts, (“is that a Winnebago?” “Yes. A heavily-armed, armored Winnebago”).

He wishes Agent Stern would hurry up and arrive; he can see the conversation between all of them coming and it seems to head in an emotional direction.

A door slides open and the agent walks in with Mama behind him. 

“You all moved in, Lydia?”

“I think so.” The dark haired woman sits down at the table, going over a checklist.

“What I still don’t get” Ned says, appearing from a closet where he was triple-checking an alarm system, “is why the Quell is so convinced you and Aubrey had anything to do with Sylvain’s death.” 

“That’s part of why I asked everyone to come today.” Mama says, setting her hat on the table with a sigh.

“What do you mean?” Aubrey sits beside her mom, Dani on her other side holding her hand.

Lydia Little looks up at the ceiling, then at her daughter, “What she means is that I’ve always told the story of what happened to your dad a little wrong.” She turns to Stern, “am I right that all records say Sylvain was killed in a fire, but not where the fire took place?”

“Yes, except for ones that even I don’t have access to.”

“It happened at 35 Magnolia Court. Our old house.” 

Aubrey gasps, then frowns, “but why would that involve me? It happened before I was born.”

“No, kiddo, it happened when you were only a few months old. And it was an electrical fire, like I always said, and we did” she pauses to inhale, “we did lose your dad in it. The only reason you and I weren’t lost too was because Sylvain was there.”

“Holy shit.” Barclay looks at Mama, surprised. 

“I don’t remember much, just that she was there, and the fire was spreading so fast, and I begged her to save you, even if she couldn’t save me or your father. I remember passing out from the smoke soon after. I came to on the lawn with, thank any deity you care to, you in my arms. The house was in ruins. Your father hadn’t made it out. And after saving us, neither had Sylvain.”

“Why...why didn’t you tell me? Why did you lie to me about it happening sooner?” The table in front of Aubrey looks a little smoky. 

“Because as soon as we saw just how The Quell reacted, we knew we had to hide where Sylvain had died. We figured anyone even remotely connected to her death could be a target of blame. Turns out we were right.” Mama stares at the floor, shaking her head, “Me and Thacker were the next two heroes to get there, and we pulled every string, every connection we had to be sure no one but the two of us and one or two bigwigs knew whose house it was or if there were even any survivors; plenty of fires in a town like Kepler, more than one that night. Tellin you it happened before you were born made sure no one could accidentally trace it to you by you tellin’ the story of what happened to your dad.”

“Oh. Okay.” Aubrey stands, still holding Dani’s hand, “um, I need to be alone. Or, almost alone. I’m gonna go check on Dr. Harris Bonkers.” She leaves, subdued, and Lydia looks at Mama helplessly. 

“Knew it wasn’t gonna be easy for her to hear.”

“I know. I wish we hadn’t had to tell her.”

“Hold up” Duck looks between the women, “even accountin for grief, sayin’ you and Aubrey killed Sylvain is a stretch. Any hero, Quell included, knows that sometimes your luck runs out on the simplest missions. That’s no reason to blame the folks you saved.”

“Don’t think any of us are gonna argue” Barclay steps beside Stern, “but The Quell seems convinced. I don’t know if it’s grief, or someone or something put the wrong facts in her head, but reasoning with her seems dicey at best.”

“In that case we should-” Stern stops as the alarm in the room sounds. They rush up the stairs in a flock to Mama’s command center.

“This is Grizzly.” 

“We got a major fire at St. Francis hospital” the voice of Pigeon, the head of the fire department, comes across the line, “We’re doin’ what we can, but there are a lot of folks who seem stuck and it’s spreading fast.”

“We’re on our way. Evacuate who you can and we’ll be there in under five.”

“That’s just the thing; even people who ain’t sick or hurt can’t get out. It’s like they’re muscles won’t work.”

“Fuck alright, we’ll be there soon.” Mama clicks off, the others already mostly changed, “looks like we got a fire on our hands.”

“No” Indrid says calmly, even as dread snakes up his spine, “this is not just a fire. It’s The Flame.”


	12. Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes face a nearly impossible task. 
> 
> Indrid tries to help. Mama makes an offer. Duck lets loose.

It’s a bad scene; flames already flickering through third story windows, smoke billowing through the air, and firefighters desperately trying to carry immobile patients and staff from the building. Duck can barely hear Pigeon over the wailing sirens, the shouting and increasingly panicked screams from all around them. 

“Fire started on the third floor, no one knows how. We’re hittin it with everythin we got but if we don;t evacuate, it’s gonna be real fuckin bad.”

“Right.” Mama surveys the scene, “Chicanery, get the HoverCat up to the top floor, start unloadin people. Bigfoot, you help him. Lady Flame, Demeter, try to get the damn thing out. Green Knight, you’re with me.”

As they charge inside, a voice crackles over their earpieces from command, Stern having stayed behind to relay information (“you’ll need all of you. The Department doesn’t have to know I acted as one of the team this time”). But it isn’t Stern’s voice. It’s Indrid’s.

“The smoke, you need to put on some kind of ventilators or masks, it is the source of the immobilization. He mixed a chemical in with it before ignition.” 

“Shit.” He waves down Ned, who tosses him and Mama masks. He spots Minerva and the rest of the Chosen Squad close behind, 

The hospital is hellish, even in the parts the flames have yet to reach. Whatever chemical is at play, it doesn’t knock people out, merely immobilizes them, meaning from every room echo terrified cries for help. He takes the second floor with Leo, Mama and Minerva evacuating the ground level.

The system is easy enough; grab as many as he can carry, run them outside, then dash back in.

It’s an impossible task. Even as he runs and lifts and calms, he knows they can’t save everyone if the fire doesn’t stop soon. 

“Anyone know where exactly it started?” Aubrey;s voice comes down the line.

“A disused stockroom on the third floor” Indrid again, sounding as if he;s not all there, “though it’s more important you subdue the surrounding flames first, you are running out of time before the top floor collapses.”

“Fuck!” He’s not even sure who says it. They’re all thinking it. 

The minutes race by in a haze of smoke, though Leo seems undeterred.

“I think we can just swing it, long as-Shit!” A wooden beam tumbles from the crumbling wall, and Duck only just catches it, stopping it from crashing into a still occupied room. 

“I got, ow, hot _hot_ , got it, get those folks out of there so I can drop, ow, it!”

Leo bolts into the room, emerging with a body over either shoulder, ‘All clear!”

The beam cracks into the wall, then into the bed behind the wall. 

“We got any back-up comin?” Mama, exasperated.

“All fire units within a twenty mile radius are en route.” Stern replies. 

“Uh, Knight? We could use your help up here!” Dani calls, and Duck only just makes it up the stairs without ash coming down on his head. 

He finds Dani throwing out huge mats of thick, woven vines, quashing patches of fire down to embers and patches of embers out entirely. The vines return to her, reknit, and go again. Beside her, Aubrey stands with her eyes shut, mouthing something over and over. 

“Is, uh, is that workin?”

“Kinda. I’m trying to call the fire back, so it will stop spreading. I think I got some sections out enough to keep any floors from collapsing, but this is a huge freaking fire to control, even for me.”

“What can I do?”

“Look for, like, anything with water that you can rip open and douse this area with. Water pipes, water coolers, anything. They’re having trouble getting the hoses to reach this far.”

“Roger.” Duck shoulder checks a nearby door, finds nothing but burning furnishings. Tries two more rooms with the same luck, before half crashing, half stumbling, smoke blind, into the storage space. 

In what remains of his vision, he notices two things: A water heater, and the epicenter of the fire. It doesn’t look how he expects. It’s as if a small, campfire sized blaze is pulsing outwards in waves, rather than spreading the way a normal fire would. 

Would dousing it be enough?

“Yes.” Indrid’s voice again, “The future with the water heater will work the way I suspect you hope it will.”

Duck grabs the heater, pulling with all his might until it snaps, spilling hot water out onto the central flame. It splutters, weakens, and he stomps on it for good measure.  
It goes out. 

Nearby, Aubrey cries triumphantly, “I got it!”

“Thank fuckin god.” He tries for a deep breath through the mask, then heads out to join the others and save anyone else who may need saving. 

With the flames dying out as Aubrey works her magic, the halls and stairwells darken. At the end of one, Duck glimpses a figure watching him, white glasses glinting in the dying inferno. 

It smiles, and then it’s gone.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
“Alright, let’s get this over with.” Mama, only now free of ash and slumped on the desk in the Pine Guard headquarters, looks at Stern, “what was the total damage?”

“Ten dead.” The agent says quietly. Then glancing at Barclay, as Mama is massaging her temples, “Ten out of an estimated seven hundred who were in that building. It’s nothing short of a miracle that you did what you did.”

“Still ten too many.” Duck mutters. He’s sitting with his hands in front of him, Indrid rubbing salve into them to soothe the burns that came from catching and holding the beam a little too long.

“I know, Duck.” Stern says, “I do not mean to minimize that. But this was clearly designed to have a near-total fatality rate. That it has such a low one is admirable.”

“How’d you know about the gas?” Barclay hands Dani two Gatorades, one for her and one for Aubrey, half asleep on her shoulder.

“I am familiar with The Flames techniques, and recalled him having a chemical he could mix into flames to insure someone could not flee if they breathed in smoke.” Indrid twists the lid back onto the jar of salve. 

“Indrid, I’m real glad you helped us today, but I gotta ask-”

“How I know The Flame. Yes, Mama, I expected as much. I...I do not think I can avoid the topic any longer.” 

Sore as they are, Duck holds his hands out, and Indrid gingerly takes one of them.

“The Flame is my brother. We trained to become villains together. There was a, ah, a disagreement between us, a few years ago. I no longer wished to work alongside him and left to pursue my own forms of villainy. As you likely gathered from his actions towards me, there is no love lost between us. I suppose I cannot blame him for his treatment of me.”

Duck wants to slam his fist down and insist that’s bullshit. Instead, Ned clears his throat. 

“My dear boy, one of the first times Boyd and I met after I defected, he had a chance to kill me. He did not. The natural outcome for ending a partnership is not injury followed by death.”

Indrid laughs, high and without humor, “You are correct Ned. Or you would be, were you talking about anyone besides my brother. Regardless, he is here now, and I do not think he came to Kepopolis solely to kill me. What he did today was in many ways a demonstration of what is to come.”

“Oh fuck me.” Barclay groans.

“So, what, he’s just gonna torch the city until there’s nothin left?”

Indrid shakes his head at Duck, “Doubtful. As much as he enjoys causing suffering, he was not trained for merely wrecking havoc. He has a plan. I just wish I could see what it was.” 

“Wait!” Aubrey sits up, “That’s it! See! You can help us stay one step ahead of him, even if you can’t see his, like, master plan.”

“Helpin us fight him would go a long way too. We could make you an honorary pine-”

“ _No_.” Indrid stands, backing away from the table and dropping Duck’s hand. “Absolutely not.”

“What happened to ‘no love lost?’” Mama crosses her arms. 

Indrid paces, not looking at any of them, “Were you to ask him, he would tell you he saw me and whatever I did as no more than another nuisance in his way. If that were true, I would help you as you ask. But I know my brother.” He runs his fingers along the tracker, “If he knew I was not only refusing to aid him, but actively working as a hero, no one would be safe. You would all become a new kind of target in his eyes, not simply a handful of heroes he had to be aware of; it would be personal, even if he would pretend it was not. You saw what he did to a building full of people who had no connection to him, had done nothing to impede him. Now imagine what he would do to those he saw as genuine enemies.”

Dread creeps under Duck’s skin.

“I mean, we’ve had some bad villains before, right?” Dani looks at the others. 

“I do not doubt it. But it does not even begin to describe him. If he discovered your identities, which it is not beyond his abilities to do, no one you loved would be safe. Family, friends, even places you seemed to visit often. Duck, I am being completely serious when I say he would set the whole forest on fire just to hurt you. The Lodge would be gone for certain.”

“He sounds merciless.” Stern whispers. 

“He is.” Indrid absentmindedly rubs his arm, on a spot Duck knows holds a scar. He’d asked Indrid about it and gotten “childhood mishap” as an explanation. 

“Even if he’s the worst of the worst, if you help us we could take him down faster.” Mama says.

Indrid stiffens, “The only way I will help you against him is if you decide to solve your problems with The Quell by being dead before she has the chance to kill you!” 

“‘Drid.”

“I am leaving.” The villain spins on his heel, disappearing out the door. Duck follows him, finds him standing by the elevator. 

“I cannot go any further without setting off the collar.” His tone is worryingly neutral. 

Duck nods, reprograms the coordinates, “Let’s go home.”

Indrid’s move does not improve on the trip back, and when they arrive he simply says “goodnight” before shutting the door to his room, Duck standing perplexed on the other side of it.  
Duck tries not to dwell on it as he flops down in bed, the room stifling even with the AC on high. Indrid’s past troubles the villain, he knows that. Just like he knows the thought of the Pine Guard running up against The Flame frightens him. He’s not going to hold those very reasonable emotions against the other man. 

Still, he seems extra-irritable, and he wasn’t the one pulling terrified civilians out of an inferno, wondering if each trip inside would be his last. Even with the talk of The Flame, he has less cause to be stressed and exhausted than the rest of them. 

The ranger spends forty-five minutes trying and failing to ignore this train of thought and the images that flash behind his eyelids when he manages to close them. Flames, smoke, all the things that could have happened if they’d been too slow. If Indrid hadn't warned them of the gas. 

Eventually he stands and defeatedly plods into the living room. On the kitchen counter is the sketchpad Indrid used over the last few hours, still laying where he tossed upon entering the house. Duck flips through it, and pulls his hand back when the most recent pages come into view, the images so horrifying they startle him. 

The futures where they failed, the ones he was imagining but a hundred times worse than he could envision. 

Indrid helped them stop this, even as it played over and over in his mind.

Duck takes the short walk down the hall and knocks on the guest room door.

“‘Drid? You awake?” 

No answer, just the scribbling of pen on paper.

He pushes the door open. Indrid still doesn’t look up, continues scribbling, unoccupied hand occasionally darting out to crumple up an image.

“I am not interested.”

“What?”

“Going by your state of dress, you are about to suggest a certain, intimate mode of stress relief. I am not interested.” He still hasn’t looked up.

Duck looks down at the moth patterned boxers (he bought them months ago), the only thing he’s wearing. 

“This is just what I wear to bed in the summer, remember?”

“Mmm.” Indrid crumples another paper. 

“We ain’t all ice-cubes with glasses.” He says teasingly.

“We all were not experimented on once upon a time.” Indrid mutters, finally looking up, “And no, I do not wish to say more. Go to bed, Duck Newton.”

Duck fights the urge to argue, remembers what he came in to do. 

“I will. But will you let me say one thing first?”

Indrid folds his hands in his lap, expectantly, face implacable. 

“Thank you. For helpin’ us tonight. For helpin me. I, uh, I saw what you’d been seein’. Lotta people are still alive because of you.”

“No.” Indrid’s voice is tight, “They are alive because of you and the other heroes.” 

“And you.”

Indrid doesn’t respond, but his fingers begin worrying the edge of his sweater. Duck kneels, carefully slipping his glasses off his nose. 

“I can never be as you are.” The red eyes regard the carpet. 

“Why not?” Duck brushes his fingers along bony shoulders. 

“If you are as merciful as I believe you to be, chivalrous one, you will not ask me to explain.”

He feels the tension stretching beneath Indrid’s skin as he awaits his response. 

“Okay.”

Indrid collapses against him, and Duck wraps his arms around him without a second thought. 

“Take me to bed? In, ah, in a sleeping way.” His eyes glimmer, reminding Duck of gems in a dark cavern.

“C’mon.” They stand together, and Duck guides them over to the bed, laying down so Indrid can curl around him. His skin remains oddly cool, and Duck sighs as his arm shifts to find it’s preferred resting place. 

“You gonna be able to sleep?”

A pause, then, “Will you tell me about the Monongahela? I believe that will help us both to sleep.”

“Think I can do that. I told you about the time I was tryin to get high and ran into a black bear instead?”

“No, but please do.”

“So there I am, right, and there’s this rustlin noise. I figure I’m just imagine it, then I turn and see this head stickin out of the bushes. Now, I know a black bear when I see one--they’re the state mammal y’know-- so I start freakin’ out…”

\---------------------------------------------  
Two days later, Indrid is laying on the floor when Duck gets home from the forest, drawings spread out before him. 

“I believe I have identified several ways in which I can assist the Pine Guard in either minimizing or outright stopping The Flames spread without altering him to the fact I am alive and aiding you.”

“Shit, that’s good news.”

“Yes. It is.” Indrid grins at him as he sits down on the couch. Duck rubs a hand along his shoulders as he kisses him.

“Christ sugar, your back is nothin but knots.”

“I said it was good news, not calming news.”

“Oh, darlin’” Duck kisses him again, “is there anythin I can do? Somethin to help you relax even a little bit?”

“Ah” Indrid taps his finger tips together, “one comes to mind, but it is a bit unorthodox.”

“Like jackin off unorthodox or, uh, like, hanging you out a window by your ankles of somethin?”

Indrid laughs, “closer to the first than the second. I, ah, I was researching earlier and I found this.” He pulls up a video clip of what Duck swears is the same bear/twink combo from the last time. They seem to be taking turns tying each other up with shibari patterns across their partner's. 

“I, ah, looked ahead to see what would happen if I asked you to try this with me and oddly the likely outcome was me feeling markedly calmer.”

Heat flashes out of Duck’s core and into his limbs, “Think I could manage a simple one. I only tried it once or twice, but those ropes I got will work for it.”

“It will not, ah, frustrate you if it arouses you but not me?”

“N-nope. Who, uh, who said anythin about me bein that into it?”

“My sweet, your pupils are wonderfully wide and your drawl is getting more pronounced.” 

“Heh, okay, you caught me. I been thinkin about tyin you up since, uh, since, um, nevermind.” He squeaks.

Indrid smirks, “The SmartWhips make more sense now.”

“Those are just an efficient way of catching you when you’re flittin around with those damn wings!” 

“Whatever you say, oh brave Knight. Shall we?” Indrid stands, offering his hand. Duck takes it with a smile, and soon they’re seated on the bed, ropes and tutorial in front of him as he regards Indrid’s bare chest. 

Gathering up the dark green rope, he circles his chest once, then loops the rope through and up Indrid’s back. As much as he concentrates on the ties and loops, his main focus is on Indrid, whether he tenses or relaxes, sighs or tries to pull away.

So far, all it’s been is sighs, and they continue as Duck makes a second circle higher up, then drags the rope through the front and over one shoulder. He grumbles, has to undo a moment later when he messes up the pattern, Indrid chuckling softly as he relaxes all the more. 

Soon, two circles of rope with ‘V’ drawing up and over his shoulders adorns his boyfriend, who’s uncovered eyes are dreamy and calm. 

“Good? Not too tight or itchy?” Duck draws his finger in the in-between patches of skin, then down the small happy trail and across to his left hip, Indrid whimpering at the touch.

“Lovely.” Indrid kisses him languidly, “Shall we get something to eat?”

“You want me to order in or-”

“Whatever you think best.” The lilting voice dances around his ears as Indrid kisses his face. Then the taller man pulls back and tugs his shirt on. 

Duck ends up ordering from the nearby diner for take-out, running out to get it and returning with a sandwich for himself and two slices of peach pie for Indrid. They eat on the couch, Nature playing on the T.V. Indrid has explained that he likes watching it both for the information and because Duck gets so excited by various animals and natural phenomena. 

It’s as Duck is rinsing off the few dishes that Indrid slips his arms around his middle, practically purring in his ear. 

“Thought you didn’t expect to get goin’ from this.” Duck turns for an awkward kiss. 

“I said it was unlikely. It is just, it has been so nice, feeling this against my skin, knowing you put it there, knowing I can take it off as I please but not wanting to because it reminds me of you.” His voice goes lower, “reminds me who I belong to. At whose mercy I remain.”

“ _Fuuuck_.” Duck braces against the sink. 

“You know, there is something we have not yet tried. Well, many things, but one that is, ah, usually a main even. As it were.”

Duck whirls, finds Indrid gnawing his lip. 

“You want me to, uh, fuck you-fuck you?”

“If you would like.”

“Like don’t even start to cover it.” He growls, finding one of the ropes beneath his shirt and pulling him into a kiss. Indrid moans magnificently loud, and when he tugs the harness again Indrid embraces him, pawing and yanking ineffectively at his clothes. 

“Strip and get on the bed for me, sugar. I’ll be right there.”

Indrid practically sprints away. 

Duck follows him at a leisurely pace, retrieves the lube and condoms from the box under the bed to the sound of clothing hitting the hamper. He finds Indrid waiting for him in the center of the mattress, naked save for the ropes.

“Lookit you, already rarin to go and I ain’t even touched you yet.” He inclines his head towards the half-hard cock waiting for him between tan, lean legs. 

“I, I have been like this for a half hour, simply from thinking of you.” The taller man removes his glasses.

“Good boy.” Duck undoes his belt, pants and underwear hitting the floor, joined shortly by his shirt. 

Indrid is nearly bouncing with excitement by the time he sits in front of him, falling into his arms for a kiss, hips moving in needy circles. 

“First things first, sugar. You want me to top?”

“Yes, yes please, I, ah, I assumed that was customary.”

“Nope, can do this however you want, but it seemed like you wanted me to fuck you this go around. Pick a position, whatever’s gonna...christ that’s a nice view.” He gawps as Indrid rolls onto his hands and knees. 

“T-thank you.”

Duck gets out the first condom, douses it with lube, “I’m gonna go slow, y’hear? Don’t care how much of a horny virgin you are, we do this nice and gentle to start.”

“U-understood. Oh, oh goodness.” Indrid’s back arches as one hand skates along his ass. He teases him with the first finger, waiting until he relaxes to push in.

“OH! Ahnnnnnn.” Indrid pushes back, whimpers as Duck moves in and out.

“You ever done this to yourself?”

“Yes. If, if I am being honestOH, more frequently as we became rivals.”

“That so? You’d lay in that hideout-”

“HideoutsAHah, god.” Indrid gasps as Duck adds a second finger. 

“-Fingerin yourself and wishin it was my cock?"

“Yesyessss.” Indrid groans as Duck carefully scissors his fingers.

“Weren’t the only one, sugar. Some nights I came straight home and jacked off thinkin of you in some empty museum hall, face down so I could fuck you. Used to dream about fuckin you so many times in a row your ass was dripping and you couldn’t walk.”

“I, I am very amenable to thaaAAt, oh yes.”

“Good to know.” He grins, sliding in a third finger. This is usually enough for his partners, and there’s the temptation to hurry so he can be balls-deep in Indrid for the rest of the night.  
But he hasn’t spent weeks fantasizing about this for nothing.

He curls his finger exploratorily a few times.

“Gah!”

“There it is.” 

“Nnnn, Duck, please, oh god, if you keep doing that I am going to cum in, in thirty seconds, and I don’t want to yet.”

Duck pauses, leans so his mouth is close to Indrid’s ear, “Let’s get one thing straight, darlin. I decide when you come.”

He presses again, Indrid gasping in response. 

“And if I decide I wanna make you cum like this five times in a row, you’re gonna goddamn do it.”

“YesYESyes.” Indrid turns, kissing him pleadingly. 

“But tonight, I wanna watch you cum on my cock while I, uh, deflower you.”

“Deflower? Really?” Indrid giggles, then yelps when Duck thrusts his fingers twice more before pulling out and tossing the condom in the trash. 

“Yeah, really, because I watched your cock jump as soon as I said it. Know how much you like the reminder I’m gonna be the first to fuck this.” He squeezes Indrid’s ass lovingly.  
Indrid whines, nodding, then goes rigid when the head of Duck’s cock presses against his entrance. 

“S’okay sugar, I’m gonna go slow. I promise. You need me to stop, all you gotta is say. Okay?”

Indrid makes a noise to garbled to discern.

“Okay?” Duck tugs on the back of the harness and Indrid shivers. 

“Yes, understood.”

“Good boy.” He smooths his hands up and down Indrid’s back, letting him take what time he needs to relax. Gradually he nudges the tip in.

“That’s it darlin’, let me in a little at a time, oh christ.” He groans as the head pushes all the way in, Indrid tight and actually warm for once around him. 

“Duck.” Indrid gasps, fingers turning white as he grips the sheets.

“Right here.” He strokes his lower back, pushes in another half inch, then another, Indrid moaning the entire time.

“St-top, just a moment.”

He freezes, reaches down to hold Indrid’s hand. 

“It, I, god it feels incredible my sweet, but I need to adjust.”

“Take as long as you need.”

Indrid breathes deeply, gradually relaxing around Duck, before saying, “you may continue. Oh, ohhhh, yes, mmmmmDuck, Duck.” 

“Good boy, takin’ me all the way.” He dips down to kiss the back of Indrid’s neck as he shifts his hips side to side, savoring the way the base of his cock feels against Indrids ass. 

“Should I move, or, or do you?”

“You let me take care of all of it. All you gotta do is lay there, look handsome, and get fucked.”

Indrid rests his head on his hands with a raspy moan as Duck slowly moves in and out a little, not wanting to overwhelm him. Finds his rhythm, grunting whenever Indrid tightens around him.

“You like that?” Indrid’s panting comes across sing-song, and Duck knows he’s smirking. 

“Yep. Love feelin you go tight, knowin no matter how tight you go you still gotta take me _fuck_ ” Indrid tightens and pushes back at the same time. 

“Tryin to be patient here, sugar, don’t test me.”

“I am not. I am urging you to use a little more of that strength.” Indrid tries to push back again, but Duck is ready. He grips the harness, using it to shove Indrid down and pin him, preventing him from moving back.

“I’m in charge, darlin. I’m gonna take my sweet time breakin you in and makin sure I don't actually break you.”

“You are, oh, oh yes, obnoxiously noble at times,”

Duck thinks on his fantasies, the ones that used to flood him with shame and sometimes still do, “you don’t wanna know what I’m like when I ain’t.”

“Oh but I do.” 

He stops and Indrid whines, rubbing his face into the sheets. 

“‘Drid, I’m serious; I’d never forgive myself if I went too far and hurt you. You deserve me bein’ good to you in bed and out of it.”

Indrid looks over his shoulder, face earnest, “you have been, and I have no doubt you will continue to be good. To me and in general. I am giving you permission to, well, evil with someone who trusts you. Just as you have given me permission to be at your mercy. We truly do not need to continue with the subject if you do not want to. I just..I want you to know it is not only my desires I am willing to indulge. I trust you.”

Duck strokes his cheek, “promise you’ll say stop if you need to.”

“You have my word as a sort-of hero.”

“Put your face against the bed again.”

Indrid obeys with a smile. Duck gathers his wrists in one hand, pressing them to his lower back, and grabs the harness with the other. Pulls halfway out, counts to five, then shoves in with as much of his might as he dares. 

The yelp quickly becomes a moan as he sets a punishing pace.

“AhOh, that, that is even better than I foresaw.” 

“Good, cause there’s a lot more comin’”

“FUCK, oh god, oh Duck.”

“This is what you needed, ain’t it sugar, you needed me to pin you down and fuck this tight virgin ass raw, show you just how good I can make you feel.”

“Yes, oh please yes.” Indrid’s back muscles strain from the position, his wrists twisting and sparking delicious possessiveness in Duck’s chest.

“No use tryin’ to get away now. You;re mine, and I;m gonna use you ‘til I’m good and done, fuck, gonna treat you so good you’ll never leave this bed, just stay here with you ass spread so I can fuck you whenever I want.”

Indrid nods even as his hips try to twist away from the force of Duck’s thrusts. 

“Oh no you don’t, c’mere you fuckin’ little-” Duck releases the harness in favor of looping his arm around Indrid’s hips, trapping them completely, “I’m real fuckin close, and I ain't missin my chance to be the first person to come in this ass. Gotta, fuck, gotta get you broken in anyhow, once you’re fucked and ruined you’ll take it even better.”

“Yes, yes, please, goodness, every affirmative you know.” Indrid’s head turns and Duck gets a glimpse of a blissful smile. 

“You want me to cum in you? Ask.”

“Please cum in me.”

“You can do better.” Duck snaps his hips.

“AHnn, ah, pretty please cum in me?”

“Not quite. Say why you want that, why I get to be first.”

“Ohhh” Indrid’s eyes widen with understanding, and even in the midst of letting loose Duck feels sharp, unforgiving affection in his chest for his boyfriend.

“Pleaseplease Duck, I, I want it to be you, you’re so good to me, I, I want you so much it hurts, so much, please, love, _please_.”

“Good boy.” Duck growls, ramming into him, “you wanted me, you got me, fuck, got me good and smitten, fuck, c'mon, ohfuckyeah, take it, fuckin’ take. It” He spills on the last word, Indrid’s babbled, happy words drowned out by his own animal groan.

Even as finishes, he snakes a hand down.

“You ain’t come yet.”

“No, but, but it’s alright, oh, oh I see.” Indrid laughs breathlessly as Duck hauls them both up on their knees, Indrid’s wrists still trapped behind him and arm still around his waist. 

“We’re in luck, darlin, my second wind came right after the first. And since it ain't polite for me to leave you hangin’...” he kisses Indrid’s neck, lowers his arm down to wrap a hand around his cock, “fuck yourself on me.”

Indrid begins thrusting in and out of his fist, little moans bursting from him each time he pushes back on Duck’s cock.

“Good boy, c'mon, bounce on my dick, lemme cum in you again.”

“I, I will, oh god, Duck, I’m sorry, I am not going to last much longer.” Indrid’s free hand alternates between the tracker and the harness, petting each eagerly. 

Duck kisses his cheek lovingly as his hand strokes him harder, “that don’t bother me none, fuck I love watchin you get off, love makin you happy oh holy fuck that’s hot.” He pants as Indrid cums downs his hand, repeating his name like it’s all he knows how to say. 

“Christ that was good, you’re so fuckin’ incredible, c’mon sugar just hold on for a little more, so close, gotta make sure your ass is good and claimed, ‘Drid, _‘Drid_.” He holds Indrid tight, releasing his wrists in favor of a hug as he pulses inside him. Indrid kisses the parts of his arm he can reach, murmuring thanks. 

He intends to guide him down into a loving embrace, but they end up collapsing in a heap, laughing and panting. 

“My, my, my.” Indrid presses Duck’s head to his chest, “who knew my chivalrous one had it in him?”

“Hush you. God, I ain’t cum like that since I was in college.”

“I have not since, ah, ever.” He sits up, stretching, “would you mind undoing the harness?”

“Course not. Uh, we should wash the pillow cases too.”

“Ooops. Apologies.” 

Indrid continues chuckling as Duck unties him, dying out when they move into the bathroom so Duck can start them a bath. The cuddle in the warm water, cleaning cum and sweat off and trading tender kisses until Duck’s eyelids go heavy. 

He knows, as they curl in bed together, that it’s a false sense of security. Their enemies, the impending confrontations, will still be waiting for them in the morning. 

But for now he’s content to fall asleep in the arms of the man he trusts more than anyone else in the world.


	13. What's Behind You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Pine Guard try to learn more about their new enemy, Indrid has some ideas on how to prepare them for the inevitable. Indrid remembers. Duck researches. Stern gets bitten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content: The first section of this chapter is a dream/flashback about Indrid's past. There is no violence depicted, but it's obvious that Indrid is not safe, and that something bad happens at the end of the dream.

_Indrid sits on the edge of his bed, wiping sleep from his eyes and looking up. Looking back at him are two red, beady eyes in a white face._

_“Oh, good morning Squeak.”_

_The rat wiggles its nose, and Indrid reaches through the cage to pet it._

_Wait a moment._

_He hasn’t had a rat in years. The last time he did he was eleven. No, twelve?_

_Looking into the nearby mirror, he finds his eyes brown. Yes, twelve it is then._

_But if he’s twelve…._

_Oh god._

_Oh no._

_No, he’ll be here soon. Indrid knows he will, knows he’s done something wrong, he just can’t recall what._

_Squeak, unsurprisingly, squeaks and Indrid pets him again. He found the rat several months ago. It must have escaped from the lab a few floors down. He convinced his father to let him keep it, pointing out that rats were intelligent, and that he could no doubt train them to be spies or otherwise of use. Squeak, so named because it seemed the logical choice, would be the test case._

_That Squeak has learned only a few tricks in exchange for granola bars, and that most of the scrap Indrid brings back is used to build him a more lavish rat home instead of mini-cameras is something Indrid will not be telling anyone any time soon._

_Familiar footsteps down the hall send him scrambling to the floor, grabbing the nearest half-finished project. The door creaks open, and in the mirror he can see legs and half a torso, clad in a grey suit._

_“Indrid.” His father’s voice is unreadable._

_“Hello, father.” Indrid bows to the reflection, doing his best to pretend he is engrossed in his work and not welling up with dread, “how may I assist you?”_

_“I thought you and I could have a little talk, now that you’re through with the session for today.”_

_The session. Oh god, he remembers now. But his father doesn’t sound angry, or even disappointed. Maybe his brother kept his mouth shut for once._

_“Apollo told me what happened today.”_

_He’s trying so hard not to curl in on himself that it hurts._

_“What did he say?”_

_“He said you ran out of the session before it was completed, that you seemed upset and said you could not do as you’d been asked.”_

_“I, I tried. Truly, I did.” Indrid looks down at his hands._

_“Indrid, my precious son, you know I only want what is best for you. After all, I allowed you to have a room all your own. Gave you more supplies to work with. Let you keep your pet.”_

_“I know, I am very grateful for that, for all you do.”_

_“In exchange, all I ask is that you as is required of you.”_

_“I tried.” He remembers the devices, laid out before him, the inquisitors asking him to tell them which would extract the information from the hostage the fastest. All the images flashing, over and over, as he considered each device. “I did not mean to fail you.”_

_“What did you mean when you told Apollo you ‘couldn’t do it?’” His father calmly folds his hands behind his back._

_The man had done nothing to him. Each device produced the same result in the end._

_“I...I m-meant that I could not clearly see what they wanted me to see. The f-futures were all very similar, and I became overwhelmed trying to pinpoint the most efficient one. I did not wish to give the wrong answer and fail you. I only w-want to” in spite of his efforts, a sniffle escapes him, “use my powers as you taught me to, use them as they should be.”_

_His father approaches, and when his arm moves Indrid doesn’t flinch. Not anymore._

_To his shock, the hand strokes his hair, comforting and paternal._

_“There now, no need to fret, my dear Indrid. I understand. I am not angry with you.” The other hand rests on his shoulder, his father’s voice gentle and soothing._

_“Thank you.” He whispers._

_“Now, you said yesterday you had new blueprints to show me?”_

_“Oh, yes!” Indrid grins up at him, “I am very excited, I think I have a way to build a compact, portable set of wings for people to wear.” He crawls over to the spread of drawings by the wall, searching for the ones he needs._

_Suddenly, his forehead is pressed against the grey stucco._

_“While I am not angry at you.” His father’s voice remains calm, a metallic click telling Indrid exactly what’s in his hand, “I believe your behavior means you’re due for a reminder of why your powers were given to you. Who you serve.”_

\-----------------------------------------  
“Abaddon! Abaddon!”

The screaming and thrashing has Duck up and in his fight stance before he realizes Indrid is the source of the sound. His boyfriend is writhing in bed, seemingly trying to protect his body with his arms. 

“‘Drid? ‘Drid, wake up, you’re havin’ a-OWfuck” Duck hits the floor several feet away, Indrid having hurled him away and darting into the closet. 

Duck crawls across the rug, stands and peers into the closet. Indrid is tucked in the back corner, knees cradled to his chest, shaking, his face pressed into his pajama pants.

“Indrid?”

Indrid’s glowing, frightened eyes snap up to look at him.

“Sugar, do you know where you are?”

“T-the apartment. Your apartment.”

“Our apartment, yeah. Good job.” He kneels, holds out his hand, “c’mon, lemme help you get back in bed.”

“No.” Indrid slaps his hand away, “no go away. Leave me be.” He curls back up, breathing heavily. Duck’s heart aches, but nonetheless he scoots backwards, stops when his back bumps into the bed.

“Do, uh, do you need anythin’?”

No reply beyond a sniffle. 

Duck grabs Indrid’s yellow and pink sweater from a nearby chair, sets that and the mothman pillow at the edge of the closet. He wants to do more, wants to pull the other man into his arms and soothe him. But that isn’t what Indrid wants, and so he won’t.

“I’m uh, gonna go get some water and check on Chicken. I’ll be right back.”

He gets himself a glass of water, pulls a cream soda from the fridge. Peeks into Chicken’s cat tree to find her sound asleep on her blanket.

By the time he gets back, Indrid is on the bed, laying on his side and facing the window. Duck walks around so he can see him, holds out the can. Indrid doesn’t look at him. He sets it on the floor, where Indrid can reach it if he wants. 

Climbing on the bed, he lays on his back, “Guessin that was more than a nightmare.”

“Correct.” Indrid sniffs, then adds, “merely a memory.”

Movement catches his eye. Indrid’s hand is stretched back awkwardly, as if searching for something. Duck stretches out his own and Indrid takes it, tugging him over to spoon the taller man. He holds his hand, idly studying the scars and tattoos on his back (it’s hot enough that he’s taken to wearing only a tank top to bed) and waits.

“It is only weakness Duck. I grew used to the things in that dream long ago. You do not need to trouble yourself with comforting me.”

“S’no trouble.” He murmurs.

“I do not deser-”

“Please don’t finish that sentence, ‘Drid. It’s such bullshit it don’t even deserve to be said. If you want me to leave you be, you know I will. But if you want comfort, I’m right here.”

Just like that first time all those months ago, Indrid rolls over in his arms, burrowing against his chest. This time, however, the tears are far from silent. 

“I, I was back, I thought I was there, I never, I d-don’t-” Indrid hiccups and Duck holds him, trying to keep the embrace protective without trapping him. Keeps quiet, petting his hair and back, giving him the space if he needs to talk. 

“I thought he was back.” Indrid shudders. 

He says nothing else, tears gradually subsiding as he relaxes in Duck’s touch. Duck kisses the top of his head, his forehead, and then his cheek, and Indrid sighs. 

Then he looks up, eyes tinted with shame, “I am sorry you had to see that. That you had to care for me.”

“I’m glad I was here to do just that.” Duck pets his cheek, “won’t say it’s fun seein’ you that way, but don’t just lo-uh, care about you when you’re my competent ‘n clever moth. Like you when your wings are a little bent too. Wait, uh, moth wings don’t really bend…”

“That metaphor get away from you, chivalrous one?” Indrid’s laugh is weak but there all the same. 

“Yeah, it did. Point is, you ain’t ever gotta apologize to me for bein’ hurt. No more than I gotta apologize to you for the same. And ‘Drid?”

Indrid scoots up so they’re face to face, “Yes?”

“I swear to you, no matter what happens, no matter where you were dreamin’ of: I’ll make damn sure you never have to go back there.”  
\--------------------------------------------  
Duck glares at the info screen above his station when it shows him yet another “no results found” message. 

A door behind him opens and shuts, and he glances over his shoulder to see Agent Stern adjusting his dress shirt and tie. 

“Early mornin’?”

Stern’s face stays neutral, “Yes. It seems you’re having one as well.”

“Had somethin I wanted to look into before I headed into work, but I’m turnin’ up fuck all.” He turns to the agent, “You ever heard of somethin, or someone, called Abaddon?”

“Abaddon. Hmmm” Stern leans against a desk, staring at the ceiling, “The name is familiar, but I can’t place it.”

“Turns up in some religious stuff, but that ain’t what I need.”

“Where did you hear it?”

“Indrid. He was, uh, sayin’ it in his sleep. Which, uh, I uh, fuck, don’t usually, uh, fuck.”

“Duck, it’s pretty obvious you two are together.”

“Thank fuck.”

“You think it’s related to his past, then.” Stern comes to stand next to him.

“Yep. I was hopin’ if I could find info on it, I might find more to help us with The Flame, since he came from the same place. But there’s fuckin’ nothin’ in our files, and I really don’t think I can ask him about it. Any chance you could look at the Department?”

“I can certainly try. If it goes anything like my search for information on Arlo Thacker, I can’t promise much, but I’ll do my best.”

“Thanks, Joe.”

Stern smiles, “You’re welcome.”

“Uh, you may wanna cover you collar or somethin.” Duck fails to hide a snicker. 

“Wh--damn it, I told him to be careful where he bit.”

“Guessin’ he’ll be more than happy to make it up to you later.”

“He’d be doing so now if I didn’t have work.”

“Yeah…” Duck stares towards the vehicle bay, where Indrid is working with Ned, “I know the feeling.”

The park is, as always, his haven from heroing. He leads tours, checks notes, answers questions, and generally wonders what it would be like if he was only Duck Newton, local ranger, and not the Green Knight.

He returns to the base that night, as Mama has called a strategy meeting. The first thing he sees is Indrid, singed but beaming.

“I believe Ned and I have successfully Flame-proofed all the vehicles. Minor incident aside-”

“I’m missing an eyebrow now!”

“As I said, minor incident aside, it was a fruitful day.” Indrid drapes his arms over Duck, kissing him with a grin.

“You’re purrin.” Duck bumps their noses together.

“I enjoy a triumph.”

"Heh" Duck kisses his neck teasingly, "maybe tonight you can try toppin, then."

"This may indeed put me in that headspace."

“Ahem.” Barclay clears his throat, nods towards the briefing room, “we should get started.”

When the entire guard, plus Stern, are seated, Indrid joins Mama at the front of the room.

“As you know, my ability to assist you only goes so far. But I have identified an area where many of you could use additional training: knowing when you are being followed.”

“My dear boy, most of us have been stalked by a villain at one time or another.”

“True, but you have not been stalked by someone trained as I was. Or, ah, rather, several of you have but do not know it, given that I followed both Dani and Barclay when I first arrived in town.”

“Hey!”

“And, of course, I observed Duck for several days before he realized what was happening.”

“I picked up on it fairly quick!”

“Yes, which I admire. But you were dealing with me, whose observation never meant to go beyond information gathering. The Flame will do it with every intent to strike.”

“ Soooo you’re gonna just follow us around randomly?” Aubrey twirls a pen in her hands.

“More or less. Agent Stern has agreed to assist me by being the one to always have access to my collar coordinates over the next week, allowing me to follow each of you in turn. I, ah, I am not comfortable taking off the collar. If The Flame somehow finds me, I would like you to know where I have gone. If you locate and catch me, you win the exercise”

“What happens if we, like, fail?” 

“I ambush you, harmlessly of course. Then we can debrief about how I did it. That will also give us a sense of where your weaknesses in observation lie. Training can only proceed if we know what needs work.”

“That’s the game plan. I agreed to go first” Mama sits down, “in case there are things we need to adjust before turnin’ him loose on y’all. We clear?”

Murmurs of agreement from the table.

“Excellent!” Indrid claps his hands together, “then the hunt is on.”  
\--------------------------------------------------------  
Duck knows it’s his day to be followed. Not because he’s spotted any sign of Indrid, but because everyone else has already had theirs. 

Mama did extremely well, nabbing The Moth almost immediately (“did you know she can read the vibrations from substances such as metal and wood as well as control those items? Because I did not.” “At least she apologized for the splinters”). Barclay did well, his super-senses picking up on the villain after an hour. 

In spite of sensing he was there, Ned lost when he was unable to locate Indrid fast enough to beat him. Dani had a similar problem, though her alarm vines earned a great deal of praise from Indrid. Aubrey, whose rapidly shifting focus made her invaluable in a fight, found herself trapped by The Moth after two hours. 

So far, Duck has avoided that outcome. He’s made it through half of his workday without being ambushed. But he also hasn’t spotted or heard Indrid anywhere.

As he’s checking some specimens out by Bluebird nesting grounds, that changes. 

He can’t see him, but he knows he’s close. Duck keeps working, all senses on edge. But nothing comes, and he still can’t pinpoint the source of eyes watching him. 

The pricking under his skin lessens as he goes back to the visitor center for his shift on the desk. It occurs to him, as he sets up a fresh stack of maps, that Indrid may be going harder on him than everyone else, because of all of them Duck was the best at tracking him when he was The Moth.

He’s shutting off the lights and checking for stragglers in the exhibits when he hears it:

A laugh.

Indrid’s laugh, his villain one that sends two separate kinds of chills up his spine.

He whirls, finds nothing.

“You ain’t gonna scare me that easy.”

No response. He isn’t surprised, but he sure as hell isn’t calm.

The drive home brings no one hiding in his back seat, and now dark, flying shape in his rear-view mirror. When he gets into the apartment, Chicken is mewing for her food, and Indrid’s keys, shoes, and wallet are all missing from their usual spots. 

He’s beaten him home, and there’s no way Indrid can get in here without him knowing. His house is as well secured as you’d expect from someone with literal archenemies. 

Duck slips off his shoes and socks, feeds the cat, and unbuttons his shirt as he walks into the bedroom. 

The whips are around his wrists before he even sees them drop. 

His SmartWhips. The Moth has rigged them to the ceiling, and as he tugs, he finds he can’t get free. 

“That son of a-”

“Ah ah.” Purrs a voice behind him, “such language is unbecoming of you, chivalrous one.” Slender fingers trail up the whips as his nemesis appears in front of him, clad all in black with his red glasses glinting in the evening light.

“You know I can get out of these real easy.” Duck growls. 

“Correction: you could get out of the ones _you_ made. I reverse engineered your design; these respond to my fingerprints, though I programed them to lock onto you as soon as your biosignature came into the room.

“Fine, point taken, you’re a master of stealth and all that shit. Now untie me so we can debrief.”

Indrid grins, wicked and hungry, as he steps into Duck’s space, “Our session shall be a bit, ah, different than the others. Special arrangements for my handsome nemesis.” He drags a finger over Duck’s lips.

“You, uh, you mean-” Duck tries to kiss the fingers teasing his face, arousal immediate and boundless when he catches Indrid’s meaning. Indrid laughs, low and sharp, shoving two fingers into his mouth without warning.

“Yes, my sweet. You’ve found yourself at my mercy. And I intend to make good use of you.”


	14. Great Responsibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Indrid and Duck take on some new roles.
> 
> Duck is trapped. Indrid has a realization. Stern has information.

Indrid gathers the cord into his hand and drags it, the upper portions rolling along the ceiling like mercury. 

“Holy shit.” Duck watches the ropes, offering no resistance whatsoever to his partner.

“I further modified the design for my purposes.” Indrid is staring at him with such intent hunger that they both bump into the edge of the mattress.

“Get on the bed.” 

Duck grins, not quite ready to give up the game entirely, “What, no gadget to make me do that?”

Indrid’s mouth twitches with the faintest sneer. Then he reaches up and curls his fingers around a knot of rope. Any slack goes from the whips, Duck having to stand on tiptoe, then scramble onto the bed in order to not avoid being yanked off his feet. 

His arms remain up in the air as his knees dent the sheets. Indrid remains at the edge of the bed, studying him. Then he slowly approaches, eventually trailing his nails up Duck’s throat. Duck keeps it bared and Indrid accepts the invitation, biting down with a delighted moan. 

“Oh I am going to _enjoy_ this.” He steps back, chuckles when Duck tries to follow him for a kiss and can’t, “my chivalrous one, so eager to be put in his place.”

“And uh, where would that be?” Duck drawls with his best country-boy grin.

“Under me, of course.” Indrid grins right back, leaning in to nip his lower lip before kissing it.

“Fuck, sugar, had no idea this is what you’d do as a top.”

Indrid bumps their noses together, a sweeter laugh bubbling out of him, “I, ah, I must admit, it did not come to me until very recently, when you intimated that you’d fantasized about me when I was The Moth. It seemed a way to, ah, ease into that role, at least for the time being.” Shyly, he cups Duck’s cheek, “do you like it?”

“If I wasn’t tied up, I’d already be ridin you.”

“Wonderful. This may be, ah, intense, so if you need me to stop completely, say red, and say ‘yellow’ if you need to pause or adjust.”

“Got it.”

“One more thing: tap the ropes twice with your pointer fingers.”

He does, and they release him instantly.

“I mislead you a bit to set the mood. I, I had to be sure you had a way to free yourself quickly. You gave me that safety our first time, and I knew I couldn’t proceed until I could give it back.”

“Indrid.” Duck sighs, pulls him in for a tender kiss and gets a familiar, happy hum against his mouth.

“Uh, how do-”

“Lift your arms again. See, they are indeed locked onto your biosignature, so they curl right back on.” Duck once again trapped, Indrid stares at him like a cat in a canary store, “shall we proceed?”

“Uh huh.”

Indrid, with more grace than seems fair, moves behind him on the bed, nails lazily scratching his neck. 

“Are you particularly attached to this shirt, my sweet?”

“Nope, why?” 

The collar of his shirt is pulled back and there’s a swift, shredding of fabric, too precise to hands. Twice more, and all that remains are strips of fabric, littering the bed.  
Indrid’s hand appears in front of him, and in the glove he sees a sharp, narrow knife. 

“I haven’t used that in years.” The other hand appears as the blade retracts, then both gloves are pulled off and tossed as far away as possible. Then cool hands drag up and down his chest, Indrid nuzzling his neck, leaving little bites and scratches when Duck least expects them. 

“Mmmm, such a strong, powerful hero.” Indrid traces along the muscles in Duck’s back, “so well built, so honed from years of hard training. Just look at these muscles; they put sculptors to shame.” 

A moment of relaxing massage and then, “I wonder if I can make them limp and useless with pleasure. Take the hero of the city and make him crumple in bliss.”

“Like to see that.” Duck murmurs. 

“You will, my sweet. After all, you do so much for me. It is time I treat you to so much pleasure you beg for mercy.”

His belt clinks open and his pants unzip, Indrid palming him once, cooing praise when Duck presses back against him.

“Hmm, you’re not quite ready. I need you fully hard and begging before we begin.”

“Gettin there as we speEEAk, oh _fuck_.” He’s not prepared for Indrid to slither in front of him and take his cock into his mouth. 

Indrid purrs, the vibrations making him gasp, head bobbing up and down eagerly. He’s pictured this dozens of times, Indrid dressed exactly like this, supervillain-smug behind his glasses. Thought first of holding him down while he did it, gloating over him finally shutting up, then later of simply holding him, stroking his hair.

“Shit, shit, fuck, sugar don’t look at me like that, not when I can’t touch you.”

“What’s wrong chivalrous one?” Indrid pulls off, thumbing the head of his cock breezily, “upset because you cannot madhandle me as you always do?”

“N-no, don’t wanna manhandle, wanna touch, wanna make you feel so good-”

Indrid sits up, pressing a finger to his lips, “How do you always put it? Ah yes: _hush_.”

Duck shuts his mouth, and Indrid kisses him gently, “Much better. Those bonds are not coming off until I am done with you. And that will not be for quite a while. Understood?”

“Yes.” Duck bats his eyelashes, making Indrid snicker and kiss his nose.

“Help me get these off.” Indrid pulls down Duck’s pants, and after several moments of awkward contortions and tugging, he’s completely naked. 

Indrid is behind again, staying in his blindspots as he sorts through what can only be Duck’s box of supplies.

“I pride myself in having an invention for every occasion, but this collection of yours puts mine to shame.” 

Silicone and cold lube press against Duck’s ass. Then a small dildo slowly works it’s way in. Duck moans, then grunts when the whole toy is thrust in at once. The same process, a slow drag out followed by a sharp thrust in, happens three more times. 

“Goodness that is fun.” Indrid sounds downright giddy, “I wonder if I could do this all night…”

“Wrist might get sore.”

“Hmm, true.” 

Duck whines when the toy disappears. Then the two, wiry arms drape over his shoulders.

“My hero, always looking out for me.” Weightless kisses along the back of his neck.

“You know itAHnnnn.” Indrid’s teeth sink into the tender skin.

The hands slide away and there’s a tear of foil behind him. He tenses instinctively when the head of Indrid’s cock pushes. Then the hands are back, soothingly petting his chest as Indrid lilts low, telling him to relax. 

Indrid nudges his hips forward little by little, the same small “ohs” that he made the first time Duck touched him spilling from his mouth. Then his moan overlaps with a gasp from his boyfriend as he pushes all the way in.

Fabric brushes his back, thighs, sides, and stomach as Indrid drapes around him, the contrast between his uniformed state and Duck’s vulnerable one making the hero moan and wiggle his hips. But instead of letting loose, fucking him hard like the captive he is, Indrid’s chin rests on his shoulder and he sways them back and forth. 

“This feels amazing, my sweet. Th-thank you.” He holds him tighter, little whimpers of gratitude escaping his mouth when it presses to Duck’s skin. He’s shaking. Duck turns his head, nuzzling his cheek. 

“You’re welcome, sugar.”

Indrid rolls his hips experimentally, groaning when Duck tightens around him. 

“Do that again, please.”

Duck does, savoring the stretch and drag of Indrid inside him. Indrid’s movements turn rabbity, reminding Duck of his own first time, hurried and eager and messy in the back of a pick-up truck. The enthusiasm, complete with messy, desperate kisses to his neck and face, is one hell of a boost to his ego. 

“Oh yes, yes yes, goodness your ass is amazing, I don’t think I’ll ever want another, it’s so _tight_ ” he squeezes his arms around Duck’s chest, “so perfect, and all mine, ahhn, to, to hell with heroism and villainy, we, we are staying right her, like this, for the rest of our natural lives.”

“Fine, fuck, by me. Fuck, ‘Drid, please touch my dick, it’s drivin me fuckin wild to see you this way.”

“Oh, oh of course.” Indrid sounds flustered as cool fingers circle his cock, pumping it in time with Indrid’s thrusts, “I nearly forgot that my plan requires you to cum in our first round.”

“Just the first?” Duck teases.

“Do not worry, Knight, there will be many more. But introducing sensitivity early on is, oh goodness, integral to my plan. I, oh god, I am quite close myself, h-here, I think I can manage-”

“Hoooshit, yeah, oh fuck that’s it, stroke me fast.”

“I am. Oh, ohyes, Duck, darling, yes.” Indrid tenses, cumming with a moan just as Duck spurts down his fingers and onto the bed.

“H-ha!” Indrid pants, triumphantly, “I thought my foresight might help us obtain simultaneous release.” He pulls out, kissing Duck’s upper back as he does. 

“Gotta,phew, say I’m real impressed. So, uh what happens now?”

Fingernails dig into his hips as Indrid murmurs, slow and menacing, “I fuck you. I’ve gotten a taste for you, and I am going to take you again. And again. And again. Until I am sated.”  
His hips are yanked back and down, straining his muscles taut, and he yelps when Indrid shoves in with a hiss. 

“Yesss, it’s just as wonderful the second time.” Indrid shifts on the bed, adjusts his grip to move Duck to a different angle, “And if the futures are correct-”

“FUCK!” Duck’s whole body lights up when Indrid’s cock finds his prostate. His own cock perks right back up, and he’s grateful that tonight his body seems poised to have good recovery times after he comes. 

“Excellent. Does that feel good?”

“Hell yeahAH, ahhhnnnnnnfuck, ‘Drid”

“Good, then you won’t mind if I continue at this pace?” He can hear the grin, Indrid ramming into into him and hitting the spot over and over. 

“Fuck no, fuck, I, I oughta warn you, I usually cum real fuckin fast from that.”

“So it seems. From what I see coming, you climax in under a minute. Annnnd-” he chuckles, “become very sensitive right after. Pity, it takes me a little longer.” 

Duck’s retort is lost in a flash of pleasure, and he loses himself in the feeling of Indrid’s hands groping and caressing every inch of him, of the breathy growls and whines in his ear as Indrid comes undone. 

He cums just as Indrid predicted, noticeably staining the sheets beneath him. Indrid doesn’t change the angle of his thrusts, and soon he’s whimpering from the overstimulation on his prostate.

“Shhhh, don’t worry my brave hero, you can take it. You don’t have a choice.” 

The moan that drips from his mouth is a surprise, as does the fact that it doesn’t stop, even as Indrid adds force, tugging his hair and cooing with false sweetness each time he tries to wriggle away from the stimulation. 

“So wonderful my darling, so good, yes, just a little more, let me ravish this perfect form a little longer, oh, oh there we are.” Indrid cums quickly, shoving his hips forward one last time after he finishes and laughing when Duck swears in surprise.

The weight behind him is gone, Indrid now standing in his periphery as he tucks his cock back into his underwear and zips up his pants. 

“I am going to leave you now, my sweet. If you truly need to stop, you know what to do. Otherwise, you will stay put if you know what is good for you.” He kisses his cheek and Duck responds with a happy sigh.

“What if I get lonely?” He pouts playfully. 

Indrid grins so wide Duck shudders in anticipating, “Don’t worry. I’m sure I shall return soon.”

He’s not kidding, though it takes him a half hour to come back, fucking him so hard and fast that his teeth clack together before leaving him, half-hard and heart beating out of his chest

As he waits, hands still trapped above him and the room dark, he can hear Indrid padding about the apartment, sometimes even tell what he’s doing: Chicken gets fed, he makes dinner (likely pasta, the same as he’s eaten the last three days), watches T.V. Something about the fact that The Moth is moving so easily and comfortably around Duck’s house, treating it as his own, while Duck is reduced to a plaything in a locked room floods his system with an unfamiliar desire, strong and wonderful and so all-consuming that when the door opens he begs Indrid to touch him. 

Indrid complies with a smirk, kissing him and jacking him off before fucking him again, slower but no less possessively than the last time. 

It’s on the third time Indrid returns that he finds the other man is even more devious than he assumed. He fucks Duck at the angle that means his prostate gets constant attention, but instead of fucking him hard and fast after Duck cums, he takes his time. Edges himself for fifteen minutes in that same position.

Then he wraps his arms around Duck’s torso and fucks up into him so hard he actually screams, the burst of too-much giving way to steady, intense pleasure melting him from the inside out. 

Indrid laughs, wicked, and covers Duck’s mouth with his hand.

“You have no one to blame but yourself, chivalrous one. You, goodness, you put this idea in my head with those fantasies of fucking me raw after a fight. So be a good little hero and take wh-whatever I choose to give youAH, oh.” He hugs him as he cums, kisses the sweat from his neck as he waits to finish. 

“Color?” The whisper in his ear jolts him out of his hazy pleasure for a beat, long enough to check in with his body and mind.

“Green.”

Indrid turns the hero’s head for a kiss, so tender that Duck whimpers and nearly breaks the bonds so he can pull Indrid to him. But he’s not done and neither, he suspects, is Indrid.  
So he decides to remain captive a little longer.  
\-------------------------------------------------------  
Indrid never imagined it could be like this. 

He’s had no trouble getting hard tonight because, in the four hours they’ve been at this, every moment with Duck, each thought of his hero, his boyfriend, tied up in the other room waiting for him, brings him a fresh dose of pleasure. 

He’s fucked Duck from behind seven times, jacked him off twice, and released his hands in order for the hero to stroke Indrid’s cock. At the end of that he’d caught him by the hair, forcing him to stay in place while Indrid came across that handsome face. 

The sight had been so intoxicating that he’d demanded Duck stroke him off again, this time while Indrid straddled his chest, so he could coat his neck and chest and then, some time later, his thighs and ass, with cum. 

For the most part though, he’s kept him tied up, checking in regularly to be sure Duck doesn’t need to stop or give his arms a rest. The hero has gone limper as the night progresses, his body is streaked with sweat and cum, his hair is tangled from Indrid tugging it, and his voice is going. Whenever their eyes meet his, his green gaze is glazed-over and hazy.

And every time their eyes meet, he looks at Indrid like he put the sun in the sky and taught the plants how to grow. 

Indrid has had power over others plenty of times in his life. But nothing like this, nothing like having the man he cares for willingly surrender to him, trust him enough to do wicked things with him. It’s the more complex cousin of the possessiveness he felt for his nemesis. Duck is not his to claim or know, not really. Duck is sharing himself with Indrid, and Indrid has never been given a greater honor.

Currently, he’s reclining on the bed, a remote control in either hand. Duck is writhing in his bonds, Indrid have slipped the vibrating ring around his cock and a vibrating plus in his ass. He’s already made him cum from it once, and hasn’t turned the devices off since. 

“Drid” Duck’s voice is strained, his eyes pleading, “please.”

“Please what?, I am not a mind reader Duck.”

“T-too much, so much, fuck, please.”

“If you need it to stop, you know what to say.” Indrid responds, cool but gentle. 

Duck whimpers, seems to be struggling to articulate his thought. Indrid stops both toys, and Duck whines. 

“No, no I, I-”

“Sweet one” Indrid crawls over and sits on his knees so they’re face to face, “I can keep going, but only if you can clearly tell me you want to.” 

A tear runs down Duck’s cheek and Indrid brushes it away, alarmed. 

“Not, not bad, sugar, d’worry.”

“But you are crying.”

“Happy tears. Wanna keep goin’, was babblin’ and, and lost my thread.” He blinks slowly at the taller man, “kiss me?”

Indrid guides him into a gentle kiss. The way Duck kisses him now is like waking up on a warm morning, the world swirling soft and golden as if everything is and always will be alright.  
One hand slips down to stroke Ducks aching, red cock, the hero moaning into his mouth and scattering garbled “thank yous” across his neck as Duck cums weakly. But not weak enough to avoid spattering Indrid’s shirt with white. 

Indrid looks down, then back up at Duck, eyebrow arched.

“You made a mess.”

“Uh huh.” Duck grins, unashamed. 

“Shall I punish you for that?”

“Hell yeah.” Duck licks his lips.

Indrid sits back, grabs the remotes and holds them where Duck can see. 

Green eyes widen, “you’re a hell of a, a nemesis.”

He blows Duck a kiss and hits both buttons at once. Duck cries out, twisting in the ropes, moans and pleas for more interspersed with pleas for mercy making for a symphony to Indrid’s ears. 

“Did you know, my sweet, that these are not on the highest setting?”

“Oh fuck, sugar, please, FUCKfuck” his voice cracks with a sob as Indrid turns the toys up, “fuck, please, mercy, I’m s-sorry.” 

“Not until you cum again.”

“I c-can’t, you, fuck, wrung me dry, ‘Drid, please, oh god this is torture.”

Indrid freezes, “the good kind or the bad?”

“Good, fuck, fuck, said you were gonna make me beg and I, oh christ, love it, fuck.”

“I did, didn’t I? And here you are, on your knees and begging, the great hero reduced to this just from a little ravishment.”

“You call th-that a little? Oh, shit, ‘Drid” Duck arches his back, every exposed inch of him presented to Indrid without hesitation or fear. 

Suddenly he knows how he wants this to end.

He shuts off the plug, yanking it out before freeing Duck from the ropes. The hero collapses forward, and he gingerly rolls him onto his back.

“Wha-oh! Fuck, darlin’” He wraps his arms around Indrid as he pushes into him.

“Come my sweet, one more for each of us, you can handle it, I know you can.” He thrusts steadily in and out, letting Duck’s cock catch between their bodies. 

“I, I want to, wanna be good to you.”

“You are.” Indrid brings their lips together, picks up his pace. 

Duck whimpers helplessly, cumming, continues with pitiful whines each time the ring pulses. Indrid fumbles blindly for the remote, finally shutting the toy off. 

“Indrid” Duck mumbles into his shoulder, “my Indrid, mine, so good to me, never, never wanna leave.”

It’s a different kind of desire that hits him this time, and he pours the feeling into the kiss. The desire for golden mornings together, green afternoons and lazy purple twilights, himself and Duck side by side, partners, caring for each other through the winding, colorful maze of days and years that form the rest of his life. He never wants to imagine his life without Duck Newton ever again.

He loves him. 

And like the heartsick fool he’s become, he cums on that thought. 

Duck whispers something that sounds like “good boy” as Indrid pulls out and sits up. He takes off his glasses, sets them on the bedside table and looks down to find that same hazy, happy look on his boyfriend’s face.

“Are you alright?” He asks softly?

“Fuck ‘mazing.” Duck slurs, trying to sit up to hug him only for his arms to turn noodly and drop him right back down onto the bed. Unperturbed, the hero rolls awkwardly until he’s hugging Indrid’s legs, head resting in his lap. 

Indrid pets him gently, “I need to get you cleaned up, my sweet. And get some water into you.”

“No, don’go.” 

“I will be right back.” He extricates himself, retrieves a large glass of water and some M&Ms from the kitchen. Returns to find his boyfriend curled up, facing away from him.

“Duck?” He sits down, touches his shoulder and gets a tearful shudder, “what’s wrong?”

“N-nothin’. Just bein’ silly.”

“Are you in pain?”

“Everythin is sore. And I feel all exposed.”

Indrid bites his lip. He has read about this, did so in preparation for tonight. But seeing Duck, curled up and frightened, makes him want to curl up as well.

No, that will not do. Duck trusts him, put himself in Indrid’s hands. Indrid will care for him, just as Duck has done for Indrid in the past. 

“Would you like a bath, or would you like me to clean you here?”

“Don’t gotta do anythin. I’ll be fine.”

Indrid crosses his arms, “if our positions were reversed, would you leave me like this.”

“No.” Duck huffs in the tone of someone who knows he’s being led to the right conclusion.

“Then I will not leave you to come down alone.”

A moment, then, “Bath sounds nice.”

Indrid helps him off the bed, settles him on the closed toilet while he runs the bath. Runs a washcloth over his back and chest while the range washes off his legs. When he’s clean, Indrid guides him back to bed.

“We can get you dressed in a minute, but I need to tend to your shoulders and arms first.”

As he massages muscle rub into his limbs, stealthily checking the futures for places that need the most care in order to avoid stiffness, he feels Duck’s breathing change. It evens out, no longer reminds him of someone expecting a monster to emerge from under the bed. 

“You didn’t do anythin wrong.” Duck says to the pillows.

“Are you sure. If, if I did” Indrid smooths down the lines of his back, “I wish to know so I do not do the same in the future.”

“Nope. I, uh, I don;t usually get subdrop or top drop. I was having such a fuckin good time and then boom, I felt like a scared piece of shit. But it had nothin to do with you at all. You were so fuckin amazin.”

“Thank you. Ah, is there anywhere that hurts that I haven’t gotten to?”

Duck tests his arms and hands, stretches his legs, “think you got ‘em all. Can you toss me some boxers?” 

Indrid does, and Duck pulls them on before downing the remainder of the water.

“Would you like to watch some documentaries while we wind down? I can, ah, feed you M&Ms while we do.” Indrid asks shyly.

Duck looks at the table, then smiles at him, “Sure, as long as my amazin boyfriend cuddles me while we do.”  
\-------------------------------------------  
Duck whistles as he clicks off his infopad. He’s only in the base for a meeting, and is ready to head home to have dinner with, and possibly pounce on, his boyfriend. His mood is improved by the fact that in the last five days, they’ve thwarted The Flame twice, saving at least a hundred people in the process (what kind of dick sets fire to a movie theater?)

“Duck, I’m glad I caught you.” Stern pops out of one of the smaller briefing rooms, “I have something you need to see.”

Once Duck is in the room Stern shuts the door and locks it. 

“I found out more about Abaddon.”

“Holy shit, where?  
“In the Department’s files. I, uh, had to bypass several levels of clearance, but I’m glad I did.” He taps the screen and a symbol, made up of interlocking Latin marks for “A” and “D”

“Our information was still limited, but based on the scant amount we have, Indrid was right to be cautious about his safety and ours.”

A new screen, mostly dates and short descriptions, along with a row of photos all with “deceased” across the bottom. 

“Part of why we know so little about this organization is that no one who has defected or been captured has lived to talk about it. Most of them are dead within twenty four hours of contact with authorities.”

“Holy shit.” Duck sits down, taking in the never-ending scroll of dates.

“What we do know is this: Abaddon is dedicated to creating the ideal supervillains in service of their greater purpose. What that purpose is, no one knows. I suspect there are agents of their organization in places other than supervillainy, to help them stay so secret and protected. All agents are marked with that symbol, scarified with it as children, with the scar refreshed throughout their lives.”

“Indrid doesn’t-”

“You said he has tattoos, right? I’d lay money on one of them covering this.”

Duck’s blood freezes over, vein by vein.

“Their compound is described as a house of horrors in one account: experimentation, weapon development, torture, you name it. They appear to gain new followers by preying on the weak and vulnerable or by collecting children under state care at a young age. One defector said that any children underwent a “trial” at age thirteen, but did not elaborate. He was found vivisected the next day.”

“Jesus.”

“Agreed.”

“But, I mean, how do we know Drid was ever that involved? He’s evaded them for years, maybe he got out young and stayed hidden. Y’know, turned to crime to survive?”

Stern gives him a sympathetic look, “I wish I could say that was true.”

A new image on the screen, taken from far off. Two figures, both in pale uniforms, caught mid-conversation. One is The Flame.

The other is Indrid. 

“That’s the only known photo of both The Flame and his partner The Sword. Rumor suggests they were the best duo Abaddon ever produced. Six years ago, right after this incident, The Sword disappeared.”

Duck puts his head in his hands, wills the room to stop spinning. 

“I don’t know how The Sword became The Moth, why Indrid would go to such a risk yet stay on the wrong side of the law. I do know that we can’t keep this information from the others. They deserve to know who they’re working with.”

“Yeah, yeah you’re right.” Duck looks up at the screen, face resolute, “show me everythin you got on The Sword.”  
\------------------------------------------  
Indrid surveys the table, pleased with himself. Candles, fancy drinks, mood lighting, and Duck’s favorite take-out from the Indian place down the street. Tonight, he shall finally give his boyfriend a romantic dinner, like he’s been trying to for weeks. 

He’s so caught up in the last minute arranging of the room that he doesn’t see Duck come home. Not until he turns around and finds him wearing a look that The Green Knight often directed at The Moth.

“Is everything alright?

Duck doesn't answer. Instead he tosses out a sentence designed to bring Indrid’s world crumbling to ash:

“What do you know about the collapse of the Red River Bridge?”


	15. What Have You Done?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duck and Indrid are forced to confront Indrid's past. Duck questions. Indrid answers. Aubrey tries to help.

He should run. He should chuck the collar away and dive out the nearest window before Duck registers what’s happening. Start over again, live in the Winnebago until he dies of either natural causes or the wrath of The Quell. 

“How much do you know?” He stands, resigned, not yet ready to look Duck in the eye.

“Know you worked for a place called Abaddon, that your old name was The Sword, and that you and The Flame were partners, though you told us that last part yourself. But I ain’t-”

“My left shoulder blade, the Luna Moth.” He turns, stacks the stray drawings on the counter, trusting Duck more with his turned back than the sorrow fighting to appear on his face,“you were about to say I didn’t have the mark.

“Guess Stern was right.” The futures tell him Duck is sat down on the arm of the couch.

“Ah, the Department has the files. That makes sense.”

“When you were with The Flame, were, uh, did you?”

“Kill people? Yes.” He removes his sweater, tossing it on the counter as he turns to face Duck, holds out his right arm, bare thanks to his tank-top. Points to the large tattoo of a night sky with a deaths head moth fluttering through it, “underneath this are the small scars we each made whenever we killed someone. There are one hundred and fifty-five of them.” 

He stares Duck down, daring him to show his horror, his revulsion, whatever is motivating him to ask this. If Indrid must be forced to confront this now, then he will make Duck do the same. 

“He and I are the sons of the leader of Abaddon. We were trained to be the perfect villains, to manifest the evil that lived in our blood. Since I foresee you asking about them, at thirteen we underwent the trials, an exposure to certain chemicals. If you were lucky, they enhanced your abilities or at worse,” he gestures to his eyes, the strange color of his hair, “mutated your features to some degree. If you were unlucky, they killed you, a way of weeding out those too weak to be of use. My brother and I were the only two of our age group to survive them. When we turned eighteen, we were unleashed into the world; burning up those who were weak, cutting down those who opposed us. That was our destiny, and we fulfilled it to it’s fullest.”

“Why did you stop?” 

“The Red River Bridge. We had been working for six years, and it was a simple mission: blow up the bridge in order to strike fear into an area that failed to comply with our demands. My brother decided we would blow it up on The Fourth of July, during the parade. The parade that ran across the bridge, with spectators lining either side. My visions showed me just how much destruction, how much death that would bring, grief and death radiating out through the community for years to come. I told him we did not have to do it that way, we could accomplish our goal just as easily by destroying the bridge another time. He called me a coward, demanded I follow his lead, as I was the one who knew how to operate the devices to trigger the collapse. I, I refused.”

He hazards a glance at Duck; the hero is watching him intently. 

“Naturally, my refusal lead to an encounter with a lightning rod the instant I turned my back. My own mistake, as I knew from an early age turning my back on him generally ended badly.”

Concern and sympathy flash across Duck’s face, and Indrid wants to scream that he doesn’t deserve such feelings.

“When I awoke, I knew he had already left for the bridge, intent on his plan. I followed him, arrived before he had a chance to act. Tried once more to convince him to change course. We argued, and he threatened to kill me then and there for betraying our cause. I told him he’d won, said I would set the devices. Instead I ran, and did not look back.”

“But the bridge-”

“Still collapsed, yes, but later than intended because The Flame had to work out how to arm and plant the devices without my help. The bridge was much clearer when they finally went off, the death toll far, far lower. I do not know quite why it was that incident that broke me. I, I suppose I was fed up; my plans were always meticulous, always got us what we wanted. If they also happened to have a little to no body count, what did that matter? What did it matter if his plans always resulted in so much death?”

“Mattered because even when you were at your worst, you were still tryin to save people.”

“Oh please.” Indrid spits, “do not try to spin this in my favor, Duck Newton. Regardless of the deaths I avoided, many people are in the ground because of my actions. Nothing either of us can say will change that.”

He sees the next few moments unfurl with questions, with accusations, braces for whichever one Duck chooses. 

“Why’d you do it?” 

“.....Beg pardon?”

“Why’d you work as The Sword?”

“I, I understood the question. It simply surprised me, no one has ever asked that.”

“Well, I’m askin’” Duck crosses his arms. 

“I wanted to make my family proud, serve the purpose I was born to do.”

“What would’ve happened if you didn’t?”

“I would have been killed.”

Duck arches an eyebrow, as if he’s made some kind of useful point.

“Wipe that look off your face, Knight. I see what you are trying to do. But is it not the sob story of every villain that they had a hard childhood, that they suffered? That does not change what I did, does not wipe away the blood streaking my hand, the evil in nature, in my bloodline-”

“Would you quit sayin’ that shit?” Duck snaps, “First off, turns out your place makes a habit of takin kids in when they're babies so they can, I guess, train ‘em up to be killin’ machines. So you got no way of knowin if that guy’s even your dad.”

Indrid rubs his forehead, “I did not know that. I was always told the children were born into the order.”

“Nope.”

“That, that cannot be the case for me. I barely survived as his son. Had I not been his flesh and blood, I do not think I would be standing here.”

“Fine” Duck pushes off the couch, stops with only a few feet between them, “let’s say he really is your dad. Fuck all that shit about you bein’ destined for evil. Destiny don’t mean jack, first of all, and second of all you spent the last few months bein’ a hero. Hell, just from the shit you helped us stop, you saved more than double the number on your arm.”

“What differences does that make? I still killed those people!” 

“I _know_ ” Duck snarls, “I ain't in fuckin denial about that, much as I wish I could be, but what you done to help us sure as hell ain’t proof that all you’re good for is doin’ evil. Christ, ‘Drid, what about that combined with refusin to keep helping The Flame makes you think you’re doomed to be evil?”

“Because I tried being good and it _didn’t work_.” 

Confusion in those green eyes, “What do you-”

“A year, Duck, I spent an entire year after I ran in hiding, trying to warn people of disasters. I couldn’t manage to stop even one. Too many failures, too many nights spent sleeping in alleys or hiding in the woods, terrified of being found, no money to my name, at the mercy of the world. I couldn’t do it. I could not handle having my attempts to help only increase my own helplessness. And so The Moth emerged from the night in my place.”

There’s that concern again, that sad affection. He has to make Duck stop looking at him like that. 

“Are you satisfied? Had enough of my sordid past to realize your mistakes?”

As was so often the case when they fought all those months ago, the Knight doesn’t take the bait. 

“If you wanna be done, fine. But I want you to answer one more thing before you walk outta this room: did you like hurtin’ people?’

He should say yes, complete the picture, dash whatever strange hope Duck is holding onto.

But the words won’t come. 

He shakes his head.

“So you’re tellin me you were trained by some murderous guy from birth to be a villain, had no one but your terrifyin-ass brother for company, and only killed because you knew you’d be dead if you disobeyed.”

“Yes, that is more or less what I just said.”

“Indrid” Duck touches his cheek, “I ain’t tryin to excuse what you did. Not sure I’m even in a place to forgive The Sword, seein’ as I only ever known The Moth. But if you expect me to stand here and let you take all the blame for it, with everything you told me about, with everythin that was done to you, you got another thing comin’”

“I was a coward and hundreds died because of it.” Indrid whispers, “I ought to have resisted sooner. Ought to have said no much sooner. Ought to have let them kill me rather than be complicit.”

“Indrid, you were a fuckin kid for most of it.”

“What does that matter?” Indrid slaps his hand away, hissing. “Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me this does not bother you, that you can ever see me the same way?”

The future comes forward with painful speed as Duck says, “No, I can’t. It’s a hell of a lot to take in about someone you care for. Lot to reconcile with how I see you. But-”

“No” He holds up his hand and Duck falls silent.

“You cannot save me from this truth, Duck. No one can.”

With that he turns, moving swiftly to his room and shutting the door. After what he just told Indrid, he doubts Duck wants a murderer in his bed.

As soon as it’s locked, he hurls his glasses at it. They do not break, he designed them not to, but he wishes they would. 

He curls up on his side on the bed, pillow pressed to face to muffle any sobs or gasps that might betray him. 

What a silly creature he’s been, thinking he could escape where he came from. It took everything from him: friends, pets, his own morals, swallowed them down one by one until there was nothing left but to serve it.

And now it’s taken Duck.  
\------------------------------------------------  
“Uh, hello? Earth to Duck?” Aubrey waves a hand in front of Duck’s face and he shakes from his trance in front of the infopad. 

“Sorry, got lost in thought.” He doesn’t elaborate, as his thoughts have proven no help in how to help things with Indrid. 

The villain is currently outside a holding cell, working with Dani on their first prisoner in years. One who arrived abruptly last night.

_The door to the meeting room bangs open and Mama stumbles in, Barclay hurrying to support her._

_“Y’all know those reports we b gettin about shadow beasts? I tracked one. It was The Quell’s doin’ alright. Caught it, put it in the cell.”_

_“Christ, why not call for back-up?”_

_“You’ll see, Duck. Now: can anyone drive me to a hospital?”_

_Ned and Dani took up the task, Ned’s ability to build a cover story for injuries deemed essential to the mission. The others, after seeing them off, took a look at the cell._

_“Oh fuck” Barclay takes a step back, “Thacker. I can’t believe, no, no wonder Mama didn’t give up without a fight.”_

_The man turns his blank gaze on them, growls ._

_“Soooo what do we do now?” Aubrey takes a tentative step forward, hops back when Thacker lunges at the door._

_“See if we can reach him? I can’t imagine Mama brought him back without intending to help him.”_

_“Good point.” Aubrey, still remarkably unfazed, looks at the two men, “where do we start?”_

Aubrey tried various spells, Dani several medicinal mixes, all to no avail. He brought Indrid in this morning, hoping he had some ideas, or could modify one of their tools so they could at least communicate with Thacker. So far, no luck.

This should worry him more than the fact Indrid has barely spoken to him for two days. It doesn’t. 

The door opens and Indird emerges, followed by Dani with a large fern in tow.

“Still nothin?”

“Nope.” The blonde shakes her head. Indrid looks up from a page of drawings and calculations, and notices everyone looking at them. He shrinks inwards.

“I, ah, I think it best to stop for today. I will be in the vehicle bay when you’re ready, Duck.”

“Okay, uh, see you out in a sec.” He watches Indrid go, turns to the others with a helpless expression.

“Does he think we’re, like mad at him?”

“Joe did tell us about his past.” Barclay says from his station.

“Yeah, but, it seems like he did what he had to to survive something really fucking scary. And he’s gotta know we wouldn’t still be asking for help if we didn’t trust him or if we hated him, right?”

Duck thinks for a moment, then smacks his head into his hands, “Oh I’m such a dipshit.”

“Wait, why?”

“Y’all, he’s probably worked for people who made no secret of hatin him or only toleratin him for his powers a bunch of times.”

“...Aw fuck you’re right.” Aubrey finishes checking Dr. Harris Bonkers vitals, “you want to tell him that's not what’s happening or should one of us?”

He stares towards the vehicle bay, “think it’s gotta be me.”

Indrid pretends to be asleep the entire trip home. Duck’s tempted to just scoop him up and carry him into the apartment, but the mood isn’t quite right. Instead, he strokes his cheek and murmurs, “we’re home, sugar.”

Indrid gets out, follows him up the stairs and into the building like a man condemned. 

Before he shuts himself away, Duck catches the door with his hand.

“‘Drid, you know the others ain’t upset with you, right? Maybe a little shocked, but they still trust you. Still want you to be okay.”

Indrid sits down at his desk, “It is only because I know you cannot lie that I believe that. It is kind of them to be so generous; many would no longer tolerate me.”

A horrible feeling gnaws at his heart, “Do you think I’m only lettin you stay here because I got a use for you?”

A nod.

“Do you think I want you trapped here so you can suffer and, uh, punish you for what you done?”

Another nod.

Quietly, he says, “Would you believe me if I said I loved you?”

A slow, barely there nod.

“Then you gotta know those other two ain’t true.”

“Why? Such things are not incompatible with love in my experience.”

“Not-, oh, fuck, ‘Drid.” He kneels next to the chair, staring up into red lenses, “I don’t know what kind of twisted shit they called love where you grew up. But for me, lovin someone means I don’t ever wanna see them suffer, don’t ever want them feelin’ like they can’t get away, like the owe me somethin’.”

“You said you could never see me the same way after knowing my past.”

“That’s true. But I never said I didn’t still care about you or want you.”

“Your love will not save or redeem me."

“That ain't the point of it. You said yourself I can’t save you from what you done. I ain’t tryin to. All I’m doin’ is lettin’ you know how I feel about you. I think you got more good in you than you know, think you can make amends for the things you regret if you want to. But none of that matters right now. All that matters, all I’m trying to say, is that I love you so goddamn much. And if you want to be with me, want us to be partners and take care of each other, all you gotta do is say the word.”

Indrid is shaking, barely breathing. Carefully, Duck reaches up and removes his glasses, finds his eyes shut tight as tears try to break free of them.

“In, in that case I l-love you too.” 

Duck cups his face, “Ain’t that just the best damn news I ever heard.”

Indrid darts forward, kisses him and knocks them both onto the ground in the process. When he pulls back he’s gasping, seems torn between more kisses and the need to regain his breathing as his body cries out the remaining tension. He lays them side by side and Indrid curls his limbs around him, clinging like lichen, kissing him so hard and desperate Duck worries they’ll both pass out. 

“I, I can’t, you truly feel that way about me?”

“Yep.” Duck grasps his chin, steadying him for another kiss. 

“No one has ever loved me as you do. I don’t believe it’s possible, that it can be true.” It’s playful denial, but denial none the less. 

“You’re forgettin one thing, sugar.” Duck kisses his cheek with a grin and whispers in his ear, “I can’t lie.”  
\---------------------------------------  
If Duck’s life were a movie, their evening would have ended with the two of them tumbling into bed to make passionate, tender love.

Instead, they stumbled into his bedroom in a haze of kisses, collapsing into bed with the cumulative exhaustion of the last few days bearing down on them like a tidal wave. The last thing he remembers is stripping down to his boxers and laying with Indrid’s head on his chest and Chicken curled up on the kicked away covers. 

The morning brings him much the same scene, except the cat is on his chest, mewing for breakfast, and Indrid is splayed out in one of his many strange sleeping positions. 

Duck kisses his forehead, “I’m gonna go feed the beast and start coffee. Be right back.”

“Mmmphk.” 

He plants another kiss for good measure, starts the coffeepot and feeds the cat while he waits for it to brew enough for two mugs. As he does, he spys a few fliers slipped in the mail-slot, likely missed when they came home yesterday. The first two are for a going our of business sale for the dehumidifier store downtown, and another announcing the opening of yet another water park. It’s the third that has him turning in a hurry, calling out for his boyfriend.

“What is it?” Indrid, bleary-eyed, steps into the kitchen and takes the note, eyes widening as he reads the single sentence written on it.

_Times up, little brother._


	16. The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As their foes close in on Kepopolis, the Pine Guard must decide on a plan. Stern steals a box. Duck gives orders. Indrid takes off.

“How long do you think he’s known?” Duck speeds towards the hideout, Indrid sketching frantically, trying to get the futures in order. The taller man only pauses to remove the tracker and hurl it out the window of their car into the window of a parked, unguarded police car.

He drops the sketchpad abruptly, searching the console between them, “where’s your communicator? I need to reach Agent Stern now.”

Duck flips open a compartment, green keypad flickering to life. 

“Code?”

“25755.”

Indrid punches in the code, flips through the contacts.

“This is Ste-”

“Agent Stern, listen carefully: you must not go into the Department today. Come straight to the Pine Guard instead.”

“Indrid? What’s going-”

“-on. The Flame, The Flame is what is going on.”

“What happens if I go in?”

“You die.”

“...Right. I’ll see you at the base.”

“Thank goodness.” Indrid flips the communicator off, collapsing forward on the dash.

“Anyone else we need to warn?” Duck hits the button to activate the hidden garage door. 

“No until Mama is awake at the hospital.”

They veer into a parking garage, turning towards the lowest level and entering a door marked “no entry.” Duck doesn’t breathe easy until they’re in the docking bay. Indrid hurries inside, Duck following him, and brings up the screens in the main room. 

“You sure he didn’t follow us?”

“Positive, which in itself is worrisome; it means he has bigger plans to execute.”

The elevator dings and they both go on alert, only for Barclay to emerge, frowning.

“I told staff not to come in and left the closed sign up, what’s all this-”

The perimeter alarm fires and all three men look at the box in the corner of the screen.

“Thank fuck, it’s just Stern. Barclay, can you let him in?”

Barclay is already hitting the button to let the agent down into the base. When he arrives, he’s carrying a cardboard box.

“I was nearly to the office when you called. Given the, uh, urgency of your warning, I snuck in through the maintenance entrance in order to retrieve something.” He sets the box on the table in front of Indrid, “If this is The Flame we're dealing with, I thought you could use some help.”

The agent lifts a slender, silver pistol from the top of the box, “This is for me. A high-powered plasma gun, fatality optional. The rest is for you.” 

Indrid reacts like it’s Christmas before he even looks in the box, flapping his hands before plunging them into the pile of black and silver.

“Both of my nightstaffs...my circuitry kit...the destabilizers ah!” he tosses several, glowing orange orbs to the side, Duck grabbing them before they hit the floor, “My wings.” 

“It was confiscated when your last hideout was investigated. I grabbed what looked to be the most essential oh, ah, you’re welcome?” Stern’s voice turns puzzled as Indrid envelops him in a stiff but earnest hug.

“You really are rubbing off on him.” Barclay smirks at Duck, only for the doors of the vehicle bay to slide open and let in an almighty ruckus. 

“Get these bloody vines OFF me.”

“Nope. And that is not how you speak to my girlfriend, thank you very much.”

“Edmund, I swear, soon as I get free-”

“You’ll be walkin into another pack of heroes.” Duck takes a nod from Dani as his cue to frisk Boyd--currently wrapped in her semi-sentient ivy--while Aubrey scowls at the thief and Ned does his best to look as though he’s not here with them and must have wandered into their super-secret base by accident.

Barclay points at the villain, “what the fuck?”

“We went to meet Ned after we got Indrid’s call, y’know, like, buddy system stuff, and got there just in time to find this guy in the living room. He broke in.”

“Wait, Ned’s doors are the hardest to unlock in the whole fuckin’ city.”

“Told you the motion sensors on those models dulled quick.”

“Shut up, Mosche.”

“No, you shut up you lousy, double-crossing, two-bit criminal!”

“O-kay, I’m gonna get outta range before I lose my hearin’.” Duck steps back, “Dani, go ahead and put him in regular cuffs, he’s all clear.”

“Why break into Ned’s house? Surely you must have known how that would go?” Indrid sets down the wings he’s been repairing and Boyd notices him for the first time. 

“Well I'll be, you ain't dead after all.”

“Correct.”

“How’s beein’ a pet villain treatin’ you?” He sneers.

“Why do people keep using that word? Aside from the collar and sleeping in Duck’s bed, my behavior is hardly comparable to that of a pet.”

“Oh _ho_ , so that’s why you up and turned on us. Got yourself a little crush on Keplers least interestin’ hero?”

“Careful what you say, these are primed.” He holds up a string of the shock beads he used on Duck during their first fight.

“Indrid.”

“Apologies, my sweet. Besides, in several futures you admit to all of us what you were really doing at Ned’s, so it is hardly your place to mock me for being attached to a hero.”

“Don’t know what you mean, just meant to steal back some of what’s mine.” 

Indrid picks up a screwdriver, twisting open the back of gravity reducing boots, “If you do not say it, I will simply tell it in your place.”

“Fine.” The thief grumbles, “I stopped by to ask him to run away with me. Start over somewhere new. It’s all goin’ to hell soon here, and one way or another I’m leavin’. Just wanted to give my old partner one last chance to come with me.”

While others exchanged surprised, but not that surprised, glances, Duck follows Indrid’s sightline to Ned. His friend is continuing to inch his way away from two women and Boyd, eyes searching for something in the floor. 

“Holy shit.” Duck whispers, then steps towards the other man, “Ned, were you seriously thinkin’ about sayin’ yes.”

“Why, my dear Duck, of course not.” Ned smiles.

“He’s lying.” Boyd, Indrid, and Stern say as one. 

“Really? _Really_?” Aubrey turns on Ned, “You know what’s coming, know how many people could die if we don’t get our shit together, and you were going to run away?”

“I never admitted to committing to the plan. Merely conceded the point that it held appeal for me. Would any of you claim that death by extremely furious, god-like supervillain sounds like the preferable option to flight?”

“No! But for your information, I’ve been having nightmares ever since The Quell made her demand. You know who she’s after, Ned. Do you think I’m not super fucking scared of her? I’m freaking terrified, but I am not running away at the last minute.”

“If everyone could just calm down a moment-”

“No one asked for your input, my governmental friend-”

“Hey, watch your fucking tone around him-”

“Oh dear Edmund, seems another one of your compatriots is lovestruck with the enemy-”

Duck fights to get a word in edgewise, notices Dani trying to do the same. Then the blonde rolls her eyes, and lifts her right hand. Vines fly out to silence everyone except Aubrey, Duck, and Indrid.

“Sorry, it’s not like I’m not pissed at Ned too, but now is really not the time to have this fight. Not with what Indrid told us. Can we agree to a true for like five minutes so we can figure out what to do to avoid, you know, dying?’

A collective nod and the vines disappear. 

“Why run now?” Indrid cocks his head, “if nothing has changed, Boyd?”

“Nothin’s changed? That Flame bloke’s what changed. None of us can get any more than a little hold-up or blackmail done without him appearin and threatenin us to stay out of his way. You’re lucky you jumped ship when you did, Cold, you don’t know what he’s like-”

Indrid’s hands on his lapels cut him off, “Do not finish that sentence.”

The usual bluster goes from Boyd's posture.

“I am giving you one. More. chance. To tell me why you felt the need to flee now.”

“I, um, we-”

“ _Now_.” Indrid hisses.

“He, he mentioned that somethin big was comin, told us we had until today to join up with him or face it ourselves. I’m a villain, but I’m not whatever he is. He scares the bleedin daylights outta me. So I decided to get out while I could.”

“That proves it.” Indrid releases him, turning to the nearest console, “he’s going to make his move today. It will be a demand, that much I know. He has not made one yet and it is the next step in his process. 

“Can’t you see it comin’?” Duck steps behind him, reading the file on The Flame’s activity in Kepopolis.

“No. Either through some cruel twist of fate or unknown machination on his part, I have never been able to see his actions coming until a few moments before they occur. Until then all I get is a patchy, white haze. But that does not matter. Not this time. I know his habits, his training, if we can only anticipate him, head him off, strike before he has a chance to hurt anyone, we can do it, we must be fast, must, must be-”

“Hold on.” Duck rests a hand on either black-clad shoulder. Indrid’s glasses mean the others don't see what Duck does; fear, pure and sharp, swirling in Indrid’s eyes. 

“We have to stop him.”

“I know. But I wanna ask you somethin: he the kind to wait for his prey to get jumpy, wait for it to fly just so he can swoop down and tear it to bits?”

“...Yes.” Indrid’s shoulders sag, “it is very likely he is waiting for us to move, hoping to get us out of the way before he initiates the next stage of his plan. It is a trap, and I nearly stuck both feet in it.” He removes his glasses, rubs his eyes tiredly, “All these years and he can still manipulate me with barely a thought.”

“Because he’s had years of learning where all your buttons are.” Aubrey says softly from behind Duck, “like some really crappy, um, engineer. Like, if an engineer knows that if you hit this button the train hits a wall, it’s not the trains fault. Wait, do trains have buttons? This sounded better in my head.”

Indrid snickers, casts a grateful, small smile her way.

“C’mon, let’s get Mr. Fancy-pants over there into a cell and suit-up so we’re ready when it’s time. You two stay out here and watch the screens.” Aubrey winks at them before shooing the others through a set of sliding doors. 

“The Lady Flame is quite perceptive.”

“Yep, she’s a real smart cookie.”

Indrid stares up at the screen, The Flames crimes casting backwards shadows on his face.

“I am not ready, Duck. I could live a hundred years, train every single day of them, and still not be ready. We know each other's minds, natures, yet while he understands every piece of me, there are parts of him that elude me. I am used to being one step ahead of everything, but for all my power and skill, I can never stay ahead of him for long. Every time we have faced each other like this, I have lost.”

“You ain’t gonna lose this time. Know why?”

“I do.”

Slender, cool fingers reach into the empty space between them. 

“Please say it anyway.”

Their fingers intertwine, Duck certain the link would put steel chain to shame. 

“Because this time, you ain’t alone.”  
\--------------------------------------------  
“Hoo my, you don’t fuck around with care packages do you?” Mama sorts through the basket Lydia proudly sets on the bedside table. 

“I take my role as deputized mama very seriously.” She sets a Starbucks cup next to the box, “This is the closest I could find to that red earl grey Barclay makes.”

“Fine by me. Cheers.” They clunk their cups together, Lydia's mocha nearly making a break through the lid.

“How are you doing, Madeline?”

“I oughta be discharged tomorrow mornin’.”

Lydia sips her coffee, crosses her legs, “You know that’s not quite what I meant.”

“I spent every wakin moment of the last two days worryin about everyone. About how to bring Arlo back. What I coulda done different. What I’m gonna do when The Quell finally breaks through.”

“That makes two of us.”

“You worried about Aubrey?”

Lydia smiles sadly, “I’m her mom, I think I’ll always be worried about her on some level. But it’s not that. She can take care of herself, even if the thought of her facing down The Quell makes my heart twist up in my chest. I just can’t stop thinking...what if I did what The Quell asked? Could I convince her that Sylvain’s death was my doing and mine alone, get her spare Aubrey? Spare the city?”

Mama sits up, wincing, “Noble as it is, don;t think it’ll work. Somethin’s happened to The Quell, somethin deep; whatever grief or anger is inside her, it’s festered into somethin I ain’t sure anythin can fix. Besides, Aubrey would never forgive me if I let her mama get killed by a villain just to save her.” 

“I’d mostly be afraid she’d never forgive me. And it is not beyond that girl to figure out how to reach into the afterlife and pull me out just to yell at me.”

“Damn right.”

The T.V mounted in the high right corner of the wall crackles to life.

“You do that?” Lydia searches for the remote.

“No I did not.” 

A face appears, angular and wearing a white mask.

“Good Morning, citizens of Kepler. I am The Flame.”

“Oh christ, not this asshole.” Mama groans, swigs from her still-scorching tea without flinching.

“As many of you have no doubt noticed, strange, shadowy monsters have begun appearing on your streets. These were warnings, harbingers of what is to come. You see, today The Quell will emerge at full strength, ready to destroy the world that wronged her. And she will. There will be nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. There is only one thing that will save you, and it is not your governments, your churches, your communities, or the worthless beings you call heroes.”

A smile that puts all crocodilians to shame, “It is me.”

“Is he fuckin serious?” Mama is already tugging on her street clothes as Lydia looks down at her phone, screen bright with instructions from her daughter.

“I am The Flame, son of the order of Abaddon. You have seen the horrors I have visited upon your city, seen my might and glory. Ours is the only way to safety, the only means of escape from the destruction to come. If you wish to join us, to prove your allegiance and offer your loyalty to me, I will be waiting for you at the abandoned Majesty Theater at noon. If you do not join us, I look forward to watching you and your loved ones crumble into ash.”

The image disappears, static buzzing loudly but not loud enough to drown out the panicked conversation spilling from every room. 

“No wonder Indrid is so damn happy when he can talk without bein’ interrupted. Flame likes the sound of his own voice more than Ned does. C’mon, we gotta get you to safety and get me to my team.”

“It looks like those might be the same place.” She holds up the phone so Mama can see.

_Aubrey: Tell Mama to go to base first, Thacker might be key. Come with her, it’s safer than anywhere else in town._

“Fine by me. Let’s get goin’.”

“......Madeline, did you have that shotgun under your bed this whole time?”

“Yep. Now toss me those keys.”  
\-------------------------------------------------  
“How is this his play? The Quell ain’t one of yours right?” Duck grabs the last of his equipment.

“Correct. But clearly he’s found a way to use her to his advantage.” The ground rumbles as Indrid brings up the coordinates of the theater. 

“Mama and, uh, my mom are on their way here. Do we tackle The Flame first or-?”

Indrid’s face goes blank, then he shakes his head, “No, we will need to divide in conquer. I suspect his plan is to emerge shortly after she does, to maximize the apparent connection between them. Duck and myself will go after him. The rest of you,” he scribbles frantically on sheet paper until an image comes into focus, “go to the top of the tallest warehouse on the wharf, send the Chosen Squad to the south side of the city. The Quell will appear at the wharf, but launch attacks at both those locations.”

“Can Stern get help from the Department to evacuate?”

“No, he cannot.” Stern walks into the main room, staring at his phone in defeat, “I just tried to get through to my team. Only one of my agents responded; she said the Department was encouraging everyone to shelter in place, and all personnel are instructed not to interfere with the situation. Which means my suspicions about Abaddon having someone in the Department are confirmed. In fact, I suspect that might be who alerted The Flame to you still being alive. All the same, we have no help evacuating.”

“We can handle it.” Boyd steps through the door to the holding cells, Ned behind him, “The Rogues Gallery, I mean.”

“Why?” Aubrey narrows her eyes.

“Because if The Quell really does toast everything, don’t bloody matter if we’re villains or not. Neither she or The Flame strike me as the discerning type.”

Indrid leans back against the console, eyes shut as Ned gears up to make his case.

“I do not see any futures where they do harm. In fact, they do increase the odds of us getting many civilians out. But the choice belongs to the rest of you.”

“Fine. But Ned, you’re with us on the wharf.” Aubrey pulls on her mask. 

“Of course, Lady Flame. I sense we will need to work together to avoid a horrible fate.”

“That reminds me” Dani opens a drawer and pulls out a black vest, handing it to Indrid, “Barclay, Aubrey, and I made this for you. It’s extra flame-proof, among other things.”

“Thank you.” Indrid takes it, and when he turns it Duck grins as delighted surprise zip across his face. 

On the front of the vest is a red outline in the shape of the Pine Guard insignia. 

Indrid pulls it on solemnly before donning his jacket and wings.

“Alright, everyone: Let’s go save the world.”  
\---------------------------------------  
Swirls of black and red fog fill the sky above the city of Kepopolis. Citizens cower in their homes, those who were out when the sky darkened taking shelter in stores or their cars. On the southside of town, Minerva draws her twin blades, eyes on the twisted, nightmare shapes forming in the sky. 

In the city center, Boyd Mosche barks orders to The Rogues Gallery, assigning them neighborhoods to evacuate and vehicles to do it with. He turns his head, nodding to his former partner, who offers a small salute before turning the HoverCat towards the wharf. 

At the Pine Guard headquarters, Mama and Lydia Little slide open the doors to the holding cell hallway. Arlo Thacker regards them with blank eyes and a growl, before turning his gaze back to the ceiling where, many miles above, a red ball of light flickers over the water. 

And two blocks away from the Majesty Theater, Indrid Cold gasps and drags Duck Newton into a shadowed alleyway.

“We need to clear the theater before anything else. He is going to blow it to pieces.”

“Why the fuck would he blow up his own followers?”

“Because this is at once a test and a display of his distinct lack of mercy. People who are the first to bow and flee to the strongest player make poor pawns; you need people whose allegiance is unflinching, even in the face of a stronger enemy. By blowing up the theater, he rids himself of fair-weather servants and strikes fear into the city with one move.”

“What the fuck is wrong with him?”

“Would you like the list chronologically? Or alphabetically?” Indrid scans the streets and the futures, “we need to enter from the back or the ceiling of the theater; he has people watching the doors. There” he points to a nearby apartment building, “we can move from roof to roof from there.”

“Roger.” Duck rests a hand on his grappling gun. 

“No need. Take my hands.”

“Are you gonna--whoahOkay!” Indrid’s wings emerge and Duck is off the ground in an instant, his partner carrying him through the air.

“I built these to support the weight of two people in case I needed to kidnap anyone.”

They touch down safely on the roof. 

“Ready?”

“Lead the way, sugar.”

Indrid grins, “let’s see if you can keep up chivalrous one.”

He takes off across the roof, vaulting from the edge and down onto the waiting roof of a hotel, Duck right behind him. They repeat the dance across the next two buildings, but in the middle of the third, a shape steps from behind an air vent. 

“Hello, little brother.”

Indrid freezes. Duck looks between the two men, watches as Indrid’s posture shifts, ready to run back the way they came. 

“This ends here, Flame. I don’t know what your bigger plan is, and frankly I don’t fuckin care. But I do know you gotta be stopped.”

“Oh do I now? What say you, Indrid?”

Indrid takes a deep breath.

Then he draws both nightstaffs, “I happen to agree with The Knight, _Apollo_.” 

The Flame snarls as Duck draws Beacon, “That is not how you address-”

Indrid executes a flawless flip, knocking his brother backwards. The Flame is up in an instant, lightning rod in either hand. 

“Very well.”

His arm flicks forward, and a disorienter flies out. Indrid dives out of the way, knowing it will follow him and blind him for a solid minute at least.

The orb is snatched from the air by a coiled blade.

“Yeeees, now at last you are using meee properlyy-”

“Not now Beacon!” Duck launches the disorienter onto the roof of a nearby restaurant.

The Flame laughs, “I see, that is how you do things now, little brother. You let others fight your battles like a coward. Father would be disappointed.”

Indrid hisses launching a destabilizer at the villain, which he dodges.

“He always said you only survived because of your powers. Now I see not even those will help you.”

“Be quiet!” Indrid launches two more attacks, both missing their mark by a mile. 

“He’s baitin’ you!” Duck swings his blade, The Flame clearing it with ease. 

Indrid pauses, then his head whips to look at Duck. “We have five minutes before the theater is destroyed.”

“You have no chance of stopping it” The Flame advances on him, “my plan is without flaws, withoutOW!”

The villain collapses, courtesy of a right hook from Duck.

“Much better.” Indrid sighs.

“Do that any time you want me to. Let’s fly.” 

Indrid extends his wings, Duck taking his hands. 

But as they take off, Duck’s fingers slip out of his, the ranger falling to the concrete a few feet below, The Flames foot immediately on his neck. 

“Too slow as always, Indrid. Your choice: save a flock of useless humans, or try your hand at defeating me and saving your, ah, what did you call him? Sweetheart?”  
\----------------------------------------------------  
Indrid hovers, heart pounding harder than a motor. He should dive down, save Duck and carry him to safety. But in every future he does that, three hundred people die immediately after. In ninety-seven percent of the futures, Duck doesn’t free himself from The Flame. 

Ever so slightly, Duck shakes his head, The Flame paying no attention to the movement beneath him. 

Indrid takes off, flapping backwards until he’s out of strike range, then turning towards the theater, flying fast as his wings can carry him. Watches the futures, breath locked in his chest. 

“Well, well, seems he is not all that attached to you.”

“Guess not.” 

“Which means-”

The Flame doesn’t get to finish, as Duck launches him off his body and over the edge of the building. His brother, unfortunately, digs two hooks into concrete, rappelling himself back up onto the roof. 

Duck seems able to handle himself until Indrid gets back, and so he alights on the roof of the theater, yanking open a staff entrance and rushing down the stairs.

He stumbles out into the main stage to a clamor of frightened whispers. 

“Is that him?”

“It looks like him.”

“It’s The Flame, he’ll, he’s not gonna hurt-”

“Who even knows? Fuck he’s creepy.”

In his best, most commanding villain voice he shouts, “Attention everyone! There is not time to explain, but my brother, The Flame, is a liar. He has lured you here to kill you!”

“Prove it!” 

“Why should we trust you?”

He groans, searches the stage and futures.

“You there, yes, in the red hat and white shirt, please step to your left!”

He leaps off the stage as the man complies, wrenches out a loose tile in the floor, pulling out a small, triangular, bright red device.

“This” he holds it above his head, “is a bomb. We have three minutes and ten seconds before it detonates, assuming I cannot shut it off. So: _run_.” 

As the screaming, fleeing throng swarms past and away from him, he opens the device with his circuit-breaking kit. He could disarm this bomb with his eyes shut. After all, he designed it.

A wire refuses to give and as he fiddles with it he mutters, “Blasted...can’t even come up with his own...has the gall to call me useless...ONE MINUTE THIRTY SECONDS”

The straggles push and shove through the many doors; in his confidence, The Flame chose a building with far too many exists. 

“Got you.” He whispers triumphantly as the countdown clock freezes at 1:04.

As the last civilians disappear into the streets, he settles on the floor, turning the bomb over in his hands. He needs only a moment to catch his breath. Then it will be time to save Duck.  
\-----------------------------------------------  
The lightning rod catches his shoulder as he dodges a nanosecond too slow, and Duck understands why Indrid was laid low by one. It’s as if his skin is on fire, his nerves and veins coursing with painful heat and light.

He stumbles to his knees, and The Flame brings the weapon down towards his neck.

There’s no way to avoid it. So he opts to catch it in one hand, squeezing down on it with all his strength even as his fingers burn. The Flames laughter turns from proud cackle to confused, nervous chuckle.

_Snap_

The two silver pieces fall to the ground, sparking. The Flame hisses, draws another as Duck manages to stand and draw Beacon, casting the blade out so it curls around the rod. 

“Duck, Indrid, it’s Aubrey, update, please, update, do you copy?”

“Little busy” Duck yanks, but The Flame is strong, holds his grip steady as he switches on the weapon. In horror, Duck watches electricity zip up Beacon and connect with his fingers. It hurts far less than direct contact with the lightning rod. But it still hurts a hell of a lot.

“Surrender, Knight. This is a pointless fight.”

“Dunno, seems like I’m holdin my own pretty damn well.”

A crackle in his ear, “This is Indrid. I did it. I, I evacuated the building. The explosive is disarmed. I am still in the theater but I’ll be with Duck shortly.”

“Hah!” Duck retracts Beacon back to his normal shape, still pointed at The Flame.

The Flame stares at him a moment, then smiles as one hand reaches into his pocket.

Indrid is talking again, in the channel that’s only him and Duck, excited, “I still cannot believe that worked. I will see you in a moment my lo-”

A godawful wave of dust, noise, and debris hits the air.

A block away, the Majesty Theater explodes.

“No! No, nonno!” Duck runs to the edge of the building, “‘Drid, ‘Drid can you hear me? C’mon, c’mon please say somethin’’

He pulls out his robo-binoculars, frantically scanning the rubble and the dust for a sign. 

“Please.” He repeats, weakly. 

In the clearing air he sees them; the frames of once-red glasses, twisted and blown to a far corner of the lot. 

He slumps on the ground, shock the only barrier between him and a guttural, heart-broken scream.

“Always carry a spare detonator.” Said detonator appears in front of him, held by a white-gloved hand, “I learned that after the Red River Bridge incident.”

“Indrid.” Duck says softly, fingers reaching for where Beacon fell from them.

“Come now, Knight. Nothing left for you here. Let us go somewhere else.”

A horrible, spine-splitting pulse of electricity to the back of his neck followed by instant, silent darkness.

The Flame tosses the limp body into his waiting craft, speeds away from the Kepopolis. 

And up above, high above, the red and black fog strengthens and swirls.


	17. The Past is Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Quell emerges, and our heroes race against time to stop the destruction of everything they love.   
> Stern gets a tip-off. Aubrey takes a hit. Duck gets a history lesson.

Duck’s been a hero long enough that coming-too in a strange room, trapped to a table or some other Bond-villain style contraption isn’t as jarring as it used to be. He’s dusty and sore but that’s not all that strange either.

Then his memory catches up with.

Indrid.

Indrid is gone. He’s gone and the last thing Duck remembers is The Flame speaking to him. Which means this is probably-

“Glad you are awake, Green Knight. Welcome to the headquarters of Abaddon.” The Flame turns to grin at him, backed by a wall of screens. He hates how familiar his features are, how they remind him of Indrid, the nose and angles and smile the same but all wrong.

Indrid.

Maybe if he can free he can still save him. Maybe he’s trapped, injured, and all he needs is Duck to help him.

“You can keep pressing at those straps, but I would not recommend it. We tested them on heroes much stronger than you are. You could aggravate your injuries, and we do not want that. Not yet, anyway.”

“Fuck you.”

“Charming. What did my brother see in you?”

Duck flips him off as best he can with still-numb fingers.

“Perhaps knowing your identity will tell me more.” The Flame prowls across the floor, removing Duck’s mask before he has a chance to pull away (not that it would help, but he’ll be damned if he stops resisting until the bitter end).

The villain punches a command into a control panel on his wrist, and bright, blue-white light scrapes across Duck’s face. The central screens flicker to life, and to his horror he sees his life fill them in, detail by detail. Name by name. 

“My, that was fast. Ah, of course, government employee, there are ample records to draw from without much searching. Let’s see...full name: Wayne Newton.” The Flame pauses, then snickers, “your parents must have thought themselves quite amusing. Speaking of parents, I see they are both deceased. But...ah yes, here we are. Living relatives: Jane Newton, her wife Olivia, and their two children James and Rose. Charming family.”

“You leave Jane and her family out of this. She ain’t done anythin to you.” Duck growls.

“Why should that matter? Hmm, many other known associates, I suspect quite a few heroes among them. And your occupation is a park ranger. What did he see in you?” The question is quieter than the rest, not really directed at Duck. Then he turns, striding back to the table, “I suspect you were no more to him than something to hide behind; a strong, unintelligent barrier barrier between him and the end he knew was coming.”

“Don’t you fuckin dare pretend you know anythin about Indrid.”

The Flame scoffs, “I know him better than anyone. He was our father’s favorite, you know. Those powers of his, they made him popular. Made up for the fact he was as weak as paper and as menacing as a mouse. Even with those abilities, had it had not been for father’s love and my own mercy towards him, he would have died before he even took the trial.” The villain smiles at the memory, “the trial was truly satisfying. It enhanced my strength and speed, did nothing but alter his appearance. Poor Indrid was inconsolable afterwards. Who knew he was vain on top of everything else?”

The image comes unbidden; Indrid, his Indrid, small and afraid in some cold room after seeing god-knows-what.

“Or maybe he was upset at seein’ a bunch of other kids die, because he ain’t a fuckin’ soulless killer!” Duck snarls.

A laugh, high and deeply amused, “My brother may be weak-willed, but he and I are cut from the same cloth. We were born to wreak destruction upon this pathetic world, subjugate the weak, view death without flinching. We knew from birth that if we died in battle no one would mourn our deaths but all would fear our legacies. So save your tears and sorrow, Wayne Newton; he does not deserve them.”

“Like hell he doesn’t.” The words come out cracked and The Flame smirks at the revealed weak point, his next words stinging salt in the wound inside Duck’s heart.

“My killing him was an act of mercy when you think about it. He had no place in this world. A traitor to his family, a failure as a villain, but too marked by the doom and destruction of his past to ever truly be good. He did not belong anywhere.”

“He belonged with me.”

A derisive laugh, “so you seem to think. No matter.” He pulls a table laden with tools: Serrated wooden bars, sleek knives, strips of metal glowing with some strange internal heat, wheels with spikes, strings arching sparks. 

Duck swallow, well aware of what’s coming and short on ideas for how to stop it. 

“Do you like my little panoply of horrors? I picked them out especially for you. Since you are so fond of my brother” he gestures to the array of implements, “I thought I could show you some of his finest work.”  
\----------------------------------------------------  
Fifteen minutes before all hell breaks loose at the Majesty Theater, Mama and Lydia sit with their backs against the wall, facing the row of holding cells. Directly across from them, Thacker continues staring up at the ceiling.

“Hate to say it, but I’m runnin out of ideas. If playin’ John Denver don’t work, got no clue what’ll jar him back to himself.”

Lydia looks down at the note in her hand, Indrid’s scrawled script reading “remind him who he is” their sole direction. 

“To be honest, I’m following your lead. You knew him way better than anyone else.”

“I know.” Mama removes her hat, runs a nervous hand through her hair, “I wish I knew what else to do.”

The main communication line flashes, and the women hurry out to the central room.

“Grizzly.”

“This is Stern. I, uh, I hate to be the bearer of even more bad news, but one of my--apparently few--allies at The Department just warned me that a squad from the department is headed your way. To intervene in what they’re calling a “unnecessary response” to The Quell.

“Of course they fuckin are.” Mama mutters, “I’ll handle it, then we’ll head your way. Grizzly out.” 

“Sooo do you have a plan or do you suggest we wing it?”

“Here’s what I got: When we built this base all those years ago, we put in catastrophic lockdown protocol. Idea was that if we were all captured or killed, the base would be locked down so tight a fuckin mosquito couldn’t even get in to access our weapons or find out about our families. But we gotta get out before that happens. And I...I ain't leavin’ Arlo here. If this place comes down on account of the Quell and he’s in it, I won’t forgive myself for that. So what I need you to do is keep tryin’ to get through to him while I set off the sequence for lockdown; once it’s going’ we’ll have three minutes to evacuate. Worst comes to worst, we knock him out with one of Dani’s spare darts and chuck him in my truck.”

“Got it.” Lydia returns to the cell, Thacker barely moving when she steps to the door.

“Arlo, hey, uh, it’s Lydia. We need to get out of here, and Mama needs to bring you with us.”

Nothing. 

She tries several variants of the same tactic, reminding him of his friends, his hometown, his past as a hero. Still nothing.

“Shit!”

“What-”

“I forgot to activate it from inside the base takes two keys: mine and Arlos.” Mama calls from the other room, frustration in every syllable. 

A boom from above them, Quell -thunder or Department guns or who even knows at this point, and Thacker growls, lunging at the bars. Lydia stands her ground.

“Arlo, if there was ever a time to snap out of it, it’s now. Madeline can’t save the base or protect the others without you.”

Black eyes flicker to grey, then back again.

“Maddie needs your help.” Lydia whispers. 

The thrall cracks, then disappears, and now it’s just Thacker standing in front of her, looking puzzled. 

“What in the hell?”

“I don’t have time to explain everything, but short version: you’ve been under the thrall of The Quell for years, she’s attacking the city right now, and the Department has enough ties to some place called Abaddon that they’re about to bust in here and stop you all from saving the city.”

“Hoo boy, that is a lot.”

“You said it. Come on.” She punches in the code Mama showed her and the two hurry to the main room.

“She said something about a key for lockdown.”

“Key? Oh!, Oh of course” Thacker stops at the first console in the room, Mama not noticing either of them as she fights with the computer. 

“Right where I left ‘em: in my jacket. Which is also right where I left it. Can’t believe Maddie kept my spot vacant.” He scurries across the room, placing his key into the slot next to Mama’s.

“Bout fuckin’ time Arlo.” Mama grumbles. Then she goes comically still.

“Hey Maddie.” Thacker grins. Lydia guffaws as Mama picks her old friend up in a bear hug.

“Still hate that nickname. Listen, I got two more commands to finish, then we turn those keys and get outta here.”

“You got it.” Thacker brushes the dust from his jacket. 

“Here, you missed a spot.” Lydia reaches out her hand, touching a small, enamel pin of a wolf along with the fabric. 

“....Thacker, where did you get that?”

“Hm? Oh, uh, from Sylvain, back when we were pen-pals. Said she found it in a thrift store and it made her think of me. Poor kid.”

“Yeah.” Lydia murmurs.

“Let’s hope we can do her proud today.” Mama puts a hand on her key. Thacker mirrors her.

“On ‘three’ we turn, then it’s time for the Wolf and Grizzly to go huntin. One, two-”

Clamoring voices and commands in the Lodge above them.

“ _Three_.”  
\----------------------------------------------------  
“At what point do we admit we are in over our heads?”

“Not yet Ned, that’s for damn sure!” Aubrey calls over her shoulder, trying to wipe a tear away as she turns back to face The Quell, now fully formed in the sky above her.

They’ve lost Indrid. Duck too, probably taken as a hostage. Barclay keeps trying their coms, face falling each time he gets dead air in response. 

Mama had been silent for a full minute when they asked her, as she sped their way in the truck, what to do. 

“We gotta stay focused on The Quell. I ain’t sure we can do anythin for Indrid at this point. And Duck, Duck’s tough. He can hold out until we get to him.”

Even through the communicator, her voice was rough.

The ground shakes, the sky echos with the storm, and Quell-possessed animals emerge from the water and air, climbing the building or scattering out into the streets, The Pine Guard doing what they can to hold them off. Stern hunkers behind what little cover there is, firing shots, while Barclay hurls nightmare bears and snakes and cougars from the roof. Dani and Ned give Aubrey cover, all the heroes agreeing that if anyone can take down The Quell, it’s her.

So, like, no pressure or anything. 

Aubrey tries every trick she knows: wind spells to immobilize, fire spells to weaken the villain’s power, desperate water spells to create barriers between the fight and the rest of the city. Through it all, Aubrey tries to reason with The Quell, and a few times she’s seemed to hesitate or falter, only to attack stronger.

The Quell directs a blast of red light at Dani, and Aubrey shifts her protective spell at the last moment. The blast dissolves, only for another to strike the magician on the shoulder.   
She stumbles back, Ned catching her. 

“I’m okay, ow, I’m okay!”

“Thanks, Fireblossom.” Dani instructs a vine to hurl a quell-bear down to the cement. How is she still so radiant in the midst of all this?

Oh, right, Aubrey’s super in love with. 

And if they get out of this mess in one piece, she’s going to marry her ASAP.

“Enough, Lady Flame!” The Quell booms, “your power is no match for my own.”

“Maybe not. But I’m not stopping, not when there’s still a chance to save everyone.”

“And I am not stopping until my love is avenged.”

“You don’t have to avenger her, I get the sense she, like, really, really wouldn’t want you to. At least not like this.”

“How dare you pretend to--YOU!” Red lightning crackles around The Quell, and Aubrey turns to see the source of the anger. 

“Mom, no! You have to go back, get out of here!” 

A bolt hits her turned back and tumbles to the ground. Her mom sprints across the roof, steps between her and The Quell.

“ _You_. You’re the one who killed her.”

Aubrey struggles to sit up, Dani hurrying to help her as Ned picks off an oncoming wave of attackers. 

“No.” Lydia shakes her head, “I didn’t kill Sylvain; I _am_ Sylvain.”

“This is heresy!” The red glow around The Quell strengthens. 

“Mom, what are you doing?” Aubrey stands, Dani supporting her. 

Lydia turns, face earnest and reassuring, and holds out her hand,“ I need a touch of your power. I don’t need much, my firework, just a spark should do. Think you can be my fuse?”

Aubrey takes her hand, lets her magic move through her, feels a warm buzz at it passes between their fingertips. 

Her mother's eyes begin glowing deep orange, energy crackling and whirling around her as she turns to face The Quell once more.

“I don't think you heard me. I said: I am Sylvain.”  
\----------------------------  
 _She’s only two blocks away when the alarm for the fire goes out, and so she flies towards the smoking house, flames flickering ominously behind the windows._

_The front door releases a billow of smoke as she steps inside, and as she fights to see a figure stumbling down the stairs. A woman with dark hair and brown eyes, cradling a bundle against her chest._

_“Oh thank the lord. My husband, he’s” she coughs, “he’s still upstairs, passed out, I can’t carry-”_

_Sylvain smiles, “I’ll get him, you two get to safety.” She flies up the stairs, finds a man prone on the floor of the smokiest room. She scoops him up. And then the roof caves in at the front of the house._

_She speeds into the burst of rubble, finds the terrified woman huddles on the ground, miraculously unharmed save for scratches._

_“The door is blocked, we’re trapped, we’re trapped, we’re-”_

_“Try to stay calm.” She kneels, helping the woman to her feet, “I can still get you all out, just-”_

_Another burst or horrible rumbling and she barely manages to shield them with a forcefield (all these years and still her powers don’t always work in a way she understands)._

_The door is well and truly blocked, and as the flames climb higher-_

_“Oh GOD!” The shriek pierces the air and then is silenced, a beam striking the woman and pinning her._

_“Hold on, hold on.” Sylvain kneels, tries to lift it but the woman stops her._

_“I, I think it’s too late for me, for him. Please.” She holds out the bundle, unharmed but sobbing, “please if you can’t save us, save her. Save Aubrey.”_

_She takes the child, cradles her close, “I will, I swear.”_

_“Please, she, my little girl. Promise me you’ll look after her, please.”_

_She hesitates, then nods._

_The woman coughs, blood trickling from her mouth as her eyes grow cloudy, then rests a hand on Sylvain’s arm, “My Aubrey, my little girl, you have to be her mother now.”_

_“I will.” She squeezes her hand, and it happens. Her whole body ripples with power, changing, shifting into something she doesn’t understand, and she doesn’t know, can’t say what spell this was, what cue she gave her abilities. All she knows is she’s dizzy, so dizzy, her mind has gone fuzzy, barely making it from the inferno before collapsing on the front lawn, sirens sounding in the distance._

_Aubrey wails and coughs in her arms and she whispers, “It’s alright kiddo; mama’s here.”_

_She awakens in the early morning, the cold, sterile room of the hospital a welcome respite from ash and heat._

_Where is her daughter?_

_She hits the call button frantically until the night nurse appears, followed by a police officer._

_“Mrs. Little, is-?”_

_“Aubrey, is Aubrey okay?”_

_“Yes. She’s in the ward one floor up, they wanted to observe her in case there were injuries or complications from the fire. But she seems alright. I...I’m so sorry, Mrs. Little, but your husband didn’t make it out.”_

_She presses both hands over her mouth. Her poor Arthur._

_“Do you have any idea who the other person was in the house?” The officer asks softly._

_Right, there had been another woman. She pleaded with that woman to take Aubrey before everything came down around them._

_“I can’t be certain, but I think her name was Sylvain.”_  
\---------------------------------------------  
“I never intended to disappear” Lydia says as she finishes her story, “but something about the promise I made to Aubrey’s birth mother triggered a response from my powers. I took on her appearance, her memories. My powers went dormant.”

“Is that why I’m, y'know, how I am?” Aubrey asks softly.

“I don’t think so. Your powers manifested as a baby, even before the fire.”

They look up in unison to where The Quell is faltering in the air.

“Is...is it not convenient that you only recall this now? When the end is near!”

“It was the pin on Thacker's jacket. When I touched it, it was if my powers responded to the memory and emotions of my past self. But I knew I would need Aubrey’s help to awaken them, and my true memories, after being dormant for so long.”

“It can’t be possible.” The Quell shakes her head. 

Lydia reaches her hand into the air, “Come back to me, Morrigan.”

The Quell takes her hand, lowering slowly to the roof.

“Do you truly know me?” The storm above her weakens, the nightmare creatures lose form. 

“I do. I, I remember so much now. The way you always laughed when we watched some cheesy movie in your parent’s basement during sleepovers. The way your voice sounded coming over that landline in the kitchen. The night you came to get me in that junker Chevy so I could run away from home and never look back.”

“Our first kiss.” The Quell murmurs, resting their foreheads together. 

“The day we moved to this city, swearing to protect it. The last time I told you I loved you.”

“I doubt you could feel such a thing for me now. I love you so much, Elena. It broke me to lose you, I lashed out, the extinction burst of a dying star, returned to my basic state soon after. Even through all that, I loved you. I don’t think I could ever stop. All I wanted was for you to be alive. Yet the whispers grew, year after year, winding through my head with such cruel words, evidence of all the ways you and I had been despised, why they wanted you to die. If I could not have a world with you in it, I did not want a world at all. I thought that was the right choice” She clasps their hands together, lifts her head, dark eyes taking in the destruction around her. “But my love..oh my love, what have I done?”

“A great deal of harm, my thundercloud.”

Tears well up in The Quells eyes.

“You never flinched from the truth my love. Thank you for not sparing me it now.”

With that she steps past Lydia, then kneels in front of the flabbergasted, exhausted Pine Guard, her head bowed in apology.

“I have much to say. Many explanations, a thousand questions. But now is not the time for them. Right now, all I can do is ask for your forgiveness, noble heroes.”

Aubrey looks to the others, sees the conflict in her heart reflected on their faces. 

“I’m, uh, I’m not sure any of us are in a place to, like, do that now. It’s only been ten minutes since you were trying to kill us. Maybe not even that.”

The Quell--No, _Morrigan_ looks up at her with a sorrowful smile, “you inherited your mother’s candor, Aubrey. I always knew she would be a fantastic parent; and here you are, more fantastic than I could have imagined.”

“What happens now?” Barclay asks quietly. 

“We have to find Duck.” Mama shoulders her shotgun, “That is, uh, assumin’ you got things sorted here, Lydi-Elena?” The older woman still wears a sheen of caution as she steps towards the reunited pair.

Lydia chuckles, “I’m a superhero, Madeline. I’m used to having at least two names, if not more. You can call me whichever you prefer. And yes. I believe the two of us have much to discuss. Including, my love, why you blamed innocent bystanders for my death.”

“I...it is so hard to explain. Like a voice that was at once mine and not fed me rage day after day in my stasis.”

Aubrey looks out across the horizon, towards the peninsula at the south of the wharf. See’s stray flames still flickering from downed powerlines. 

“This is gonna sound crazy, but I think I might know whose voice it was.”  
\----------------------------------------------  
“There’s no need to fuss so. Isn't this the kind of bonding they suggest one do with the members of a beloved’s family, even if said beloved is deceased?” The Flame sets the piece of metal, still glowing hot enough to burn, back down on the table. 

Duck doesn’t answer him. Keeps his eyes shut, tries to bring his breathing down to normal. Tunes out the taunting voice as best he can, focuses instead of the memory of cool fingers on his cheek, wiry and loving arms around him.

Indrid. If he’s never going to see him again, the least he can do is hold out until the others get here. His powers are some help, but The Flame is relentless and skilled and seemingly will never get bored with demonstrating all kinds of torture. But he will hang on, the cocktail of love and spite sustaining him no matter what The Flame does. 

God his throat is sore from screaming. 

A beeping somewhere to his left, and the Flame stands, excited.

“About time. No doubt this is the alert that The Quell has dispatched the last of your pathetic Pine Guard. Shall take a look? It cannot be more painful for you than the spikes were on your legs. Goodness, you really did not like those, did you?”

Duck spits blood on the floor, “Go fuck yourself, Apollo.”

The villain shrugs, brings the screens to life. 

“What in the-? What is she doing?” The villain snarls.

Duck can see little of the screen, but enough to know The Quell is no longer attacking. Instead, she seems to be speaking to his friends. 

“Guess, guess relyin’ on a fuckin hyper-powerful, rage-fueled force that no one can control turned out to, to be a shitty idea.”

“That useless woman! I spent _years_ feeding those ideas to her, there was nothing, nothing that could deter her from her vengeance once she was free.”

“Apparently you” he hisses in pain when he tries to smirk, “you missed somethin.”

The Flame stomps towards the exit, “Fine, fine, I will handle her and all the others myself.” Then he freezes, turns back long enough to fix Duck with a blood-curdling smile.

“After I get rid of you, of course.”


	18. The Children of Abaddon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the Pine Guard rushes to his aid, it may be the end of the line for Duck. 
> 
> The Flame hears things. Aubrey makes an entrance. Duck gets a visitor.

Apollo knows these hallways, could navigate them on his belly with his eyes closed. So he barely pays attention to his surroundings as he strides through his stronghold to retrieve the weapon he needs. 

It’s a disintegrator. Indrid made the prototype when they were younger, with the intent of using it on bank doors, power lines, and so forth. But with no small amount of time and tinkering, Apollo has found a much better use for it. When inserted just under the skin of a victim, it dissolves them into particles, inch by inch, with all the pain one would expect to accompany the fiber’s of one’s being shredding one at a time. 

He almost wishes he’d let Indrid live, brought him back along with his hero. Made him watch the process. 

But his death was long overdue. 

It’s as he’s rounding a corner that the he pauses, head cocked to catch the sound he swore he heard. 

There it is again. Laughter. Very familiar laughter. 

“I swear, if that useless excuse for a villain is not dead-”

“Oh no” the voice in his ear whispers, “he is. Very dead. I am merely borrowing his voice.”

“Who-”

“Am I? Your conscience. Unsurprising you do not recognize me. Or that you have given me this voice”

It has to be a trick except...except the voice is coming from inside his mind, not from anywhere around him.

“Shut up, I have work to do.”

“Ah yes, dispatching the wounded hero. Very original. As was your little trick with the detonators. It is not as if every villain from here to the East coast could think of the same plan.”

A sliver of doubt sticks under his skin, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“It is the truth. You know it is. Without me you were always the unimaginative, weaker one.”

“Liar.” He spins, not sure what he hopes to accomplish. There’s nothing waiting for him in the darkness, no red eyes or slender shadow. 

“Am I?”

“I am the stronger of us. The son Abaddon dreamed of creating. So perfect that I was willing and able to kill our father when the time came.”

A gasp of faux-shock, “Really? The cold-hearted, murderous son killing his equally murderous father? What a turn of events, what an unheard of action.”

He growls. The voice is unbothered. 

“The old man was probably glad you did it. Look at this place; it is in shambles, half-empty. More defectors arose than you care to admit, even if you did kill them in the end.” As if to prove a point, the lights in the hall behind him flicker, then go out.

“It is only an ebb. We will regrow.”

A laugh, one he hasn’t heard in over six years, “Will you now? How? You are bright, Apollo, father always said. But your true skill was cruelty, and that will cost you dearly.”

More lights go out, but the sensor on his wrist shows no sign of an intruder or electrical glitch. 

“Honestly brother, your unending cruelty was what drove me away. Me, the one who could have saved you from all this.”

“That was to make you strong. To fulfill your true purpose. It was for your own good.”

“Liar.” The voices replies calmly, “and now you are left with no one but your own thoughts.” 

The last lights go out, the only remaining illumination light from a nearby lab spilling across him. 

“Do you remember when you and I were little? You used to tell me that there was an escaped experiment from the labs that roamed these halls at night. That if I disappointed father, he would let it eat me. I would lay awake, petrified in the dark, while you smiled to yourself and slept easily. But look at you now, Apollo. Just a few minutes alone with your own thoughts, and you are shivering in the dark, all to aware of just how weak you are.”

“Shut up, shut up!” He claps his hands over his ears, shuts his eyes as if that might stop the noise, drive the voice back.

Silence.

He opens them again.

Two glowing, red eyes stare at him from the shadow, no more than a foot away.

“Boo.”  
\----------------------------------------------  
A better man than Indrid might find the fear on his brothers face pitiful, the way he stumbles back sad. 

It is the most amusing thing he has ever seen.

“H-how?”

A dozen orange points of light flicker around his brother, and he watches him register the disruption of his powers, the restriction of his movement. 

All he does is grin, then turn on his heel and head down the hallway, the small BUG he grabbed on his way over flitting out of his brothers ear and into Indrid's pocket. He waits until he rounds the corner to start sprinting. The new base is layed out a little differently from the one he grew up in, but the basics remain the same. Which means the interrogation rooms have to be nearby.

He spies the only one with a light on, flings the door open.

He is going to snap Apollo’s neck for this.

Duck’s face is bruised and bloody, and Indrid counts a dozen burns and cuts criss-crossing his body.

Miraculously, the hero has freed one wrist from the cuffs holding him to the table, the skin raw and red from the effort. His eyes are shut in concentration as he swears and hisses, trying to free the other. 

Indrid moves forward and Duck freezes. 

“Come, come to gloat some more you fuckin lousy son of a-”

“Such language, chivalrous one.”

Duck’s eyes peek open. Widen with wonder before settling into dulled acceptance.

“Great. I’m dead.”

“On the contrary.” Indrid can barely contain his relief as he leans in, kissing Duck on one of the few unmarred spots of his face, “You are very much alive. For which I am immensely grateful.”

It takes Duck a moment to process the kiss and Indrid’s words. Then he strains weakly but determinedly forward, trying to reach him. 

“‘Drid, _‘Drid_.”

Indrid hits the command to retract the bonds, and Duck crumples into his arms, clinging to him. 

“It’s alright my love, I am here, I am here.” He holds him as tightly as he dares as Duck’s face presses into his neck sobs of gratitude. There had been so many futures where he was too late. Too many where he held a cold, limp body instead of a shaking, warm one. 

“I am here.” He says once more.

Duck sniffs, looks up at him as he cups his cheek, “Yeah. You are.” He looks closer, “Christ, you’re almost as banged up as me.”

“That will happen when half a building comes down on you.”

Duck winces, cuddles closer, “How, how come-”

“-I survived? You remember how I said that while I can see The Flame in the futures, I can only see him clearly at the last moment? Well, sometimes a moment is enough.” He cranes his neck, spies the pile of clean cloth his brother was doubtless using to wipe his hands between bouts of torturing Duck. Picks one up, shifts Duck carefully in his arms so he can clean the blood from his hero’s face as he continues, “Even as I was telling you all that I succeed, I suspected he would not make his plan so easy to foil. So I concentrated all my power on seeing his movements, and confirmed my fears. It was enough time to throw the explosive as far away from me as possible and take flight. I just...was not quite fast enough. I was far enough that I was not killed instantly, but enough debris and rubble came down to ruin my wings and send me spinning. My glasses went one way, my communicator another, and I went a third. When I got my bearings, I was stuck and cut in several spots. Then something odd happened.”

Duck whimpers when Indrid cleans away the gunk on a slash on his chest, and he bends his head to kiss it softly. 

“A chunk of cement that ought to have broken my ribs did not. It hit the vest and somehow didn’t crush my bones. Then as I was taking stock of my injuries, little vines emerged from the vest, curling around the wounds and soothing them.”

“But those sound like Dani’s field patches. The ones she can get on us if we’re hurt during a fight.”

Indrid holds out his arm so Duck can see, “They are. And they made it easier to free myself. But in the end, what got me out of the rubble in record time was, well” he stares adoringly at his boyfriend, “the thought of never seeing you again.”

“Told you it was a hell of a motivator.”

Flashing white lights from the monitor and Indrid sighs.

“Thus ends our respite. I knew the destablizers would only hold him so long, but it seems he’s broken loose enough to sound the alarm to any nearby agents of Abaddon. Who were already on the retreat when The Quell stopped her attack. 

“Bring it on. I’m ready to fuck shit up.”

“No. You are not.”

Duck sags in his arms. 

“My love, you are in no condition to fight. In fact, all futures show you needing my help to even walk for the time being.”

“Fuck.”  
“Never fear, my sweet: I called for back-up. Relatedly, that is a very satisfying thing to do. Come along.” He helps Duck stand, supports him when his legs immediately give. Indrid grabs the hero’s weapons from the table where The Flame chucked them and hands them to the ranger. Even if Duck can’t use them, they might come in handy. 

“How’d you even get here if your wings broke?” Duck asks as they hobble out into the hall.

“One of my brother’s minions left their motorcycle unattended. Much like the security in this building, and the electrical systems, it’s commands were easy to override with detection. After all, I helped build them. I radioed the others so they could lock into the signal of the vehicle and follow it’s trail here. Also, when this is all over we should see if that vigilante group one town over would like the bikes. The Hornets, I believe they’re called?”

“Yep.”

“ _You_!” The Flame rounds a corner, weapons drawn. Duck steadies against the wall as Indrid pivots to stay in front of him. 

“Astute.” Indrid drawls, remaining nightstaff springing to life in his hand. It is one of his only remaining weapons. The rest were either destroyed in the explosion or used in restraining his brother. 

His brother does not need to know that. Indrid stands tall, as if he has an army at his command. He may die today, may witness the end of everyone and everything he loves. 

But he will never cower before his brother, or any servant of Abaddon, ever again.

“You will regret ever turning your back on me.”

“Doubtful. As doubtful, I suspect, as you admitting we have beaten you.”

The Flame grins, “Beaten? Didn’t you hear the sirens, little brother? You will soon be very outnumbered.”

“I would not be so certain about that.”

“No more mind games, Indrid.”

“Surrender, Apollo. This can end without any more death.”

His brother points one lightning rod at him, “And no more running. It is time to do what you have been running from, what you have been afraid of as long as either of us can remember: fight me.”

Footsteps echo behind Apollo. 

“There they are, little brother. They could have been yours to command.”

Indrid cocks his head, “You know, I think I like my team better.”

The wall behind Apollo explodes in a burst of black and red light. The Pine Guard emerges through it and The Flame shrieks in frustration. 

“Oof, someone’s a sore loser.” Aubrey smirks, flanked on either side by Sylvain and The Quell. 

“Think I missed somethin. Or several somethin’s” Duck says from behind him. 

When he speaks the others see him. Aubrey and Ned cheer, and Barclay lists against Agent Stern with an audible noise of relief.

“Believe me, ain’t no one gladder to see him than me. But we got one more problem to solve, and it’s runnin right towards us.” Mama shouts.

“Allow us.” The Quell smiles at Sylvain, whose hands glow, “go save your friends.”

The Flames hand shoots out before Indrid can call a warning, and the floor between him and the Pine Guard catches fire. Flames lick the ceiling, make it near-impossible to see his friends. 

“I got it!”

“Oh no, Lady Flame, you do not. These are my special flames, the same ones I used at the hospital. It will take you awhile to douse them.”

Indrid grabs Duck, pulling him into the nearest room, knowing full well his brother will follow them. 

“‘Uh, ‘Drid?”

He flicks on the light and groans, “Of all the rotten futures.”

It’s the training room. 

“Excellent selection, little brother.” 

The floor shifts beneath him and he pushes Duck to the safety of the corner.

“Ow!”

“Apologies!” He calls over his shoulder, leaping to land on a rising platform that is, at least, solid ground. 

The Flame leaps up to the opposite edge, lightning rods sparking. 

“There is no way out but through me.”

He’s right, of course. Indrid hates it when he’s right.

He takes a deep breath, takes his fight stance, “Very well.”

For a moment, there’s no sound but the whirring as the room comes to life. No movement as the two of them stand facing each other, The Flames white uniform gleaming around him, his mask reflecting Indrid’s torn clothes and glowing eyes back at him. 

Then he charges, Indrid diving out of the way and rolling across the platform. He swings his staff out, misses when The Flame knocks it aside. The platforms tips to the side, the angle too steep, sending them both sliding towards a dark pit that he happens to know contains spikes. 

He leaps, lands on a circular platform, must immediately dodge a jet of flame from his left side. His brother lands on a beam that see-saws beneath him. Another jet of flame and Indrid decides he needs to find a new platform. 

Apollo must come to the same conclusion, moving with inhuman speed across three more beams to slice at the air where Indrid just was, blocking his escape

“Face facts, Indrid, you are out of practice.”

“Why do you keep forgetting about the five years I was on my own.”

“You were worthless during them.” The Flame advances on him. Indrid stays still, waits. 

“I have several cities that may disagree.”

“Cities that are not under your control.”

Indrid rolls his eyes, “Only an insecure man needs total control. One might even say a weak man needs it.”

The Flame lunges and Indrid steps off the platform into open air. 

Somewhere below, Duck makes a sound of protest.

Indrid’s feet hit the beam he knew would be rising as the platforms rotated. He balances precariously, then launches himself across two platforms, one that tilts as soon as he hits it, the next seeming stable under his feet. It doesn’t take The Flame long to mimic his path, grabbing for him with a snarl as he darts out of the way. 

“Stop using those damned powers!”

“I will if you do the same!”

“Admit it!” The Flame swings wildly, Indrid dancing out of the way “They are the only reason you made it out of here alive.”

“No.” Indrid responds mildly. This time, when The Flame advances, he holds his ground, lets their weapons connect, “You and he always wanted me to believe that. But you were wrong.”  
He parries twice, adjusts his balance when the platform narrows, “Just one of many lies I swallowed down because it was that or choke.”

“You only felt that way because you were weak.” They spot the opening in Indrid’s block at the same time, “ _Are_ weak.”

He grabs Apollo’s wrist, but the lightning rod connects with his chest. 

Nothing happens. 

They look down in tandem with matching confusion. 

“It must be a malfunction.”

Indrid understands, smiles, “No. I do not think it is.”

The Flame yelps in pain when the knife in Indrid’s glove slashes his wrist, making him drop the rod. Indrid grabs it from the air, brings it down on his brother’s leg.

A louder scream of pain this time.

“Yes, it seems it works.” He tosses the weapon into the abyss, knocks it’s twin from Apollo’s left hand and throws it in after. 

The Flame stumbles, only dodging one swing of Indrid’s staff. The next hits his side, though he stays upright as Indrid drives him backwards. 

“It is still useless Indrid. We survived the trials of our father, the tests of our will and strength, but I am the only one who came out stronger.”

Indrid shakes his head, delivers a blow to his kidneys this time, “You are forgetting something, Apollo. Yes, we both survived Abaddon. We both survived father. But you never learned to survive me.”

His brother lunges, and in one smooth motion he strikes his neck, lower spine, and knees, leaving the villain on his back.

“I, however, learned to survive you.” He points the staff at his throat.

The Flame lifts his hands, defeated. 

“Go on then, do the strong thing and kill me.”

“Do the honorable one and kill yourself.”

Their eyes lock in one, final challenge. Then Apollo rolls off the platform. 

And lands with a painful thud and curse of understanding, on the safety of the ground by the entrance. 

Indrid drops down to join him, shutting off the room with a flick of his staff. 

Apollo, still on his knees, whirls to snarl at him, “I knew you were a coward. After all that, you will let me live.”

“Yes. I…” he looks at Duck, who is watching him with a mixture of relief and apprehension, “The Sword would have killed you. But The Moth will not. Because I know a life of shame and defeat is what you fear the most.”

The terror in his brother’s eyes confirms it.

“Fine. Then I will just have to be rid of you.” He hurls himself at Indrid, but is yanked back as two, silver ropes wrap around him. 

“Might wanna think about listenin to your brother a little more.” Duck moves, slowly but on his own, holds the whips as he stands next to Indrid, “knows what he’s talkin about. Plus he’s stubborn fucker.”

“I learned that from a nemesis.” Indrid grins at him.

Duck stares at The Flame a moment, then smiles at Indrid, and Indrid feels the exhaustion of the day leaving him, replaced by a flood of love.

“What can I say, sugar; I’m a good influence.”  
\-----------------------------------------------------------  
The Flame doesn’t remain in the whips for long, The Quell binding him in a singularly terrifying swirl of power as she, Mama, and Stern discuss what to do with him and the captured (and only remaining) members of Abaddon.

As they do, Indrid seeks out Aubrey and Dani, pulling them both into an embrace.

“Glad to see you too, mothman.” Dani beams at him. 

“And I am glad--well, more like indebted-- to you for your gift.” He points to the vest, “you imbued it with some of Dani’s flowers and Barclay’s durability. Plus you were not kidding when you said it was ‘Flame proof.’ It was invaluable to me today.”

“The electrical dampening was Duck’s idea, just like it being pretty fireproof was mine.” Aubrey smiles, rests her hand on Indrid’s shoulder, “we thought that odds were good it might come down to you and The Flame fighting one on one. And we wanted you to know that we had your back, even if we couldn’t be there.”

“Thank you.” He whispers. Not knowing what else to do, he bows. 

Dani giggles, punches his shoulder, “C’mon, let’s go see if Sylvain and Barclay need help.”

They find the pair seeing to Duck and a badly bruised Boyd in the room where Apollo had trapped the ranger. Indrid kisses Duck’s forehead, then turns his attention to one of the screens. It doesn’t take many tries to bring him what he needs. 

“Birth records?” Duck, now in possession of a rolly-chair, glides up beside him. 

“I need to know.”

He finds his file, clicks on it. As The Swords face appears onscreen, he reads out the information.

“Birth name: Indrid Cold. Twin sibling to Apollo Cold. Wait, _twin_? All that ‘little brother nonsense and no one ever corrected him?”

“Dude really does have issues.”

Indrid shakes his head with a sigh, “Parents: Alice and Richard Silver. Richard Silver would forgo that name and become Alistair Cold, founder and leader of Abaddon.”

He curls in on himself, “So I really was his son.”

Duck rubs his arm, “Don’t mean any of the bullshit about evil blood or whatever was true.”

“I know.” He squeezes that warm, rough hand, feeling better just from the touch.

“Wait, Alice and Richard Silver?” Sylvain hurries to the screen, flips to the page of his father. 

“Oh. My. God.” 

“What?” Aubrey comes up to her mom, looking worried. 

“Indrid, my birth name is Elena Silver. My parents were Alice and Richard, and that asshole up there is one hundred percent my father.”

“.............what?!” Say a multitude of voices

“Indrid, I ran away from home when I was a teenager. Morrigan came in the dead of night to pick me up, because I was terrified of my dad. He, he knew about my powers, kept going on and on about what he was going to do with them, and he would, well” she gives him such a look of understanding and sympathy that he nearly cries, “I’m guessing you know what he was like when someone told him no. So away I went. I heard through the grapevine years later that he and my mom might have had more kids, but it always felt like a trap, like if I followed up he’d find me.”

“I understand entirely.” Indrid’s expression is stuck in shock, his fingers itching o do something, but he can’t place what.

Sylvain opens her arms, “how about a hug, baby brother?”

Indrid steps into the embrace, feels a strange buzzing warmth. His stiff shoulders relax as she squeezes him and murmurs, “I’m so sorry. I should have come back and looked for you.”

“No” he hugs her back, “he might have gotten you as well. I am glad he did not. I am glad you found the life you did.”

“Holy SHIT! If you’re her brother, then that means you’re my uncle!”

“I, ah, suppose it does, Lady Flame.” 

“Hell yeah, I get a cool uncle!”

“Man, my uncle is just a mechanic in Fresno.” Dani giggles with mock disappointment.

“I like your uncle James. He taught me how to ride a motorcycle.”

“He taught you to what?”

“Uh, nothing mom!” Aubrey does her best innocent grin, which turns mischievous when it lands on Duck, “waaaiiit a minute. That means Duck is gonna be my uncle too.”

The ranger turns bright red, tries hiding under a hat that isn’t there.

“Now Aubrey,” Indrid steps away from his sister, drapes his arms around the love of his life, “don’t pressure the poor man. After all, after today he and I have all the time in the world.”


	19. After The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kepopolis rebuilds in the aftermath of The Flame. Stern makes a discovery. Mama makes an announcement. Indrid makes an entrance.

The months following The Storm, as locals take to calling it (or, more accurately, the tourism board calls it. Locals tend to call it something more along the lines of “the day shit almost went all to hell.”), are a strange time. 

It starts with the near-immediate ousting of several high-ranking members of the Department of Hero Oversight, for their connections to Abaddon. Connections that had, among other things, allowed The Flame to feed messages into The Quell while she was trapped in stasis, sustaining her grief and rage, trying to distort them to serve his purposes. 

Hayes is among those removed, though he was not himself an agent, just willing to turn a blind eye towards their behavior for the sake of his own career. 

The Department announces Agent Joseph Stern will be taking over his position. Agent Joseph Stern promptly announces sweeping changes to the department because, “this has been a place of surveillance state nonsense for far too long.”

His complaints in private are a tad different. 

“They have proof of aliens, Barclay. Aliens! I’ve been asking for an extraterrestrial assignment for years, because I knew how many of my coworkers were biased against them, and it was only two clearances above me.”

“Uh, babe, is now the time to tell you The Quell is probably not from earth originally, even if she grew up here?”

“Wait, what?”

“Um, and, uh, I’m pretty sure my powers are due to my mom’s parents being from, like, two galaxies thataway.”

“...........WHAT?!”

“I know, I know” Barclay holds up his hands, “I shoulda told you sooner, but it’s not really a first date conversation.”

“Yes” Stern slides onto the couch next to him with his most charming smile, “but we must be a dozen dates in at this point. Tell me everything.”

Barclay kisses him, “Okay. How much do you know about interstellar travel...”  
\------------------------------------  
Two weeks later, The Wolf and The Grizzly make a press announcement, one that many assume will be the duo celebrating the fact The Wolf is back in action.

“We’re retirin’. Both of us. I mean, if y’all really need us, we can come back and bail your asses out, but I’m gettin too old for this nonsense.”

“Amen. Not too mention, I been under some kind of goddamn spell for the last few years. Feelin the urge to get out a commune with nature.”

Every hand in the room flies up.

“We ain’t takin’ question at this time, on account of this all feels pretty self-explanatory. Goodnight.” Grizzly tips her hat, and they exit the stage.

Of course, there are a select few who get to know the whole story.

“Been wantin you move back to West Virginia for a while. Open up a little hotel, spend my days woodcarvin and lookin after folks in a way that don’t require me livin under a constant threat of death.”

“Makes sense.” Barclay sets the tray of teacups on the table.

“What about Thacker?” Dani takes her usual mug from the tray.

“He’s gonna start an outdoor adventure tour thing-y. Course, we'll visit a hell of a lot. And even if we’ve moved by then, we’ll be back for the weddin. Wouldn’t miss that for the world.” She reaches across the table, squeezing Aubrey and Dani’s hands.

“What about the Coffee Lodge?” Aubrey shoes Dr. Harris Bonkers off the table, where he’s trying to chew a butter knife.

“Leavin’ it to this one here, of course.” Mama nods towards Barclay, who blushes.

“Really? Lodge has been your baby for years.”

“Which is why I’m leavin in the hands of the best fella I know. Just like I’m leavin you two girls in charge of the Pine Guard.”

“We’ll do our best to make you proud.” Dani grins as Aubrey rest her head on her shoulder.

Mama lifts her cup, and the others do the same as she says, "Here’s to new beginnin’s, kiddo.”  
\---------------------------------------  
Of course, just as there are still heroes in Kepopolis, there are still villains. Some chose to retire after The Storm. The Gent has not been seen in action since that day, though rumor has it The Pine Guard has a new consultant on matters of theft. 

Others, including members of The Rogues Gallery, see the defeat of The Flame as an opportunity to return to business as usual. 

Those that do not continually run up against The Pine Guard or The Chosen Squad find themselves wishing they had. 

Because The Quell, while on the side of good, is still a terrifying force to behold. And she takes her job as a protector of the city very, very seriously. 

Occasionally, Sylvain will join her, though the hero points out her help is seldom needed due to the younger, equally capable generation of heroes. 

Regardless of whether they fight together, each night The Quell returns to their (extremely fire-proof) home, and kisses her wife good morning or goodnight.  
\--------------------------------------------  
Perhaps the most discussed topic after The Storm is what will become of The Moth. There are many in the public who remain skeptical of the villain’s ability to ever turn to the side of good, no matter how many times he appears next to The Green Knight to save the day. 

Others insist that his help during The Storm cancels out his prior crimes. This opinion gains many supporters when The Green Knight reveals The Moth had been helping them ever since the hospital fire. 

The Department comes down solidly on the side of The Moth, with Agent Stern suggesting that if any government officials or similar get warning calls from The Moth regarding a disaster, they may want to listen to him. 

The former villain doesn’t appear in public much, but when asked about the kerfuffle surrounding him, merely shrugs.

“It is not as if I stopped being a villain when people wanted me to. Why on earth would I stop being a hero just because some people wanted me to?”

Finally, after many editorials, cable T.V arguments (The Green Knight appeared only once, as he got visibly angry at the implication that the Moth was simply a conniving threat to America Values), and a city council meeting that will remain the stuff of legends for the next several decades, a decision is reached. The Moth will be officially recognized by the city of Kepopolis as a hero. 

A massive crowd gathers in the Heroes Memorial Plaza, some spectators going so far as to wear red sunglasses or t-shirts with moths on them. 

However, fifteen minutes after the ceremony is supposed to begin, there is still no sign of The Moth. Or The Green Knight, for that matter.

“This is absurd” huffs the mayor.

“I did tell you this was unlikely to result in his appearance” Agent Stern replies, unbothered, “he doesn’t enjoy public attention, and it _is_ a work night.”

“What work could possibly be more important to him than this?”

Five miles away, a couple stands in the flickering light of streetlamp, staring at the door of a dilapidated apartment complex that's currently guarded by two large, armed men.

“Glad you came to your senses.” A man steps from the shadows, points to the paper bag clutched against the wife’s chest. 

“W-we, we aren’t giving you anything until we see him.”

The man snaps his fingers and a window five stories up opens. A pair of well dressed arms hold a nine-year old boy up to the ratty frame. 

“Mom, dad! Lemme go, I wanna see them!”

“Proof enough?”

Both parents nod, gaze never leaving their son. The man takes the bag, counts out the cash within it in a practiced motion.

“You’re short ten grand.” He says coolly, fixing the couple with a gaze that puts hungry sharks to shame. 

“This is all we have, all we could get even with our folks and friends pitching in.” The father keeps staring back up at their son even as he explains the situation.

“Shame. I expected more.”

“We own a corner store, not a bank or some shit. _Please_ , if we had more we’d give it, nothing matters more than getting him back.”

“Be that as it may,” the man tucks the cash into his jacket, “that was the amount you needed to give us in order to get him back _alive_. Drop him!” He calls over his shoulder and both parents shriek in terror, prevented from moving forward by the drawn guns of the henchmen on the front step. 

Instead of a nightmare scene, there’s no sign of the boy or the man who was holding him. And there is a tremendous amount of crashing coming from inside the building. The henchmen on the porch yelp in shock, orange, glowing dots suddenly appearing on their necks. 

“What the fuc-” The man is on his back in a heartbeat, a black-clad frame darting out of the shadows. He reaches for his gun, only for a black staff to fracture his wrist before pressing down against his throat. 

“I see you are about to move your other hand. If it is for any purpose other than returning these people their money, I will break that wrist as well. And your nose for good measure."

He tosses the cash at their feet, “here, take it, fuck, fuck my back hurts. And you, you're a dead man as soon as I get my feet under me.”

“Oh be quiet.” The staff comes down and the man on the ground loses consciousness. The figure turns, regarding the couple with a strange, wide smile. 

“You...you're him. That mothman guy.”

“Indeed. I am The Moth.” The hero bows, “At your service.”

“Mr, uh, moth? Our baby boy is still in there.” 

“Not for long.” The moth shifts to stand next to them, watching the front doors as they bang open and a second, masked man dashes out, their son held in his arms. 

“Oh thank god, thank god.” The couple rush forward, gathering their son into a flood of hugs and tears.

As the family reunites, the Knight steps beside his partner.

“Y'know, if we hurry, we can still make the ceremony.” He whispers.

“True. However, I recall you telling me there is a Great Horned Owl nest in one the trees you’re monitoring. I thought a night hike could be a rather pleasant conclusion to our evening.”

“Works for me, sugar.” The Knight grins, “we can go after we get these dickheads handed over to the authorities.”

“I look forward to it. I have some thoughts about what you can do with that rather, ah, sturdy oak tree in that very sheltered patch.”

The Knight jams the call button on his com again, as if that will summon the authorities faster. 

The family, all three still teary-eyed, join them. The Moth picks up the money from the ground, holds it out to them. The mother takes it, tucking it safely into her purse.

“Thank you. Just...I don’t think I’m ever gonna have the words to thank you enough for saving him, what you did, you, we can’t ever repay you for it.”

The Knight dips his head in thanks, rests his arm proudly around his partner, “No need to ma’am. After all," he grins at the other man, "it’s all in a days work for The Green Knight and The Moth.”


	20. The Thrilling Conclusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our hero's story comes to a close. Duck gets a room. Indrid picks a card.

“Must I keep my eyes closed?”

“Yep, and no stealin’ peeks at the future either.” Duck leads his boyfriend by the hand down the carpeted hall of the hotel, immensely pleased with the surprise he has in store. 

“It is only because I trust you that I am not immediately assuming this is some kind of trap.”

“What kinda trap would be in a swanky hotel?”

“I can think of two dozen just off the top of my head.”

Duck chuckles fondly as he slides the keycard and swings open the door, ushering Indrid into the room and carefully manuevering him around furniture and into the immense bedroom.   
“Okay, open ‘em.”

Indrid opens his eyes with a little head-shake.

“Oh my. This, this is for us?” He gestures to the bed, covered in red satin sheets with rose petals strewn about it. The room is dotted with artificial candles, (save a massage one that has yet to be lit), and several bouquets. A small box of very fancy chocolates sits on the nightstand, along with a bottle of champagne. 

“It looks like a diamond commercial.” Indrid whispers, hands flapping as he turns to yank Duck into a kiss, “how did you manage it?”

“It’s the Honeymoon Suite complete with the, uh, ‘honeymoon welcome package.”

“Honeymoon...wait, but if we are staying in the honeymoon suite, where will Aubrey and Dani go tomorrow night?”

“On their actual honeymoon, somewhere that ain’t here.”

“Ah, I see.” Indrid sits on the edge of the bed, running his hand across the sheets with a happy sigh, “I have not stayed in a hotel since I became The Moth. And those were ah, decidedly less glamorous. Also less secure.”

“Hey, it’s a celebration. May as well have a good time.” Duck shucks his jacket, sits down next to his boyfriend. 

Indrid cocks his head, “You had another reason, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. Uh, I, uh, I know this kind of set-up was somethin’ we both thought’d be fun. I ain’t forgotten what you told me your fantasy was for your first time. And while I can’t, uh, deflower you again-”

The word choice makes Indrid snicker, which is why he chooses it every time. 

“-I figured this’d be a real nice settin’ to spoil you in. And” he presses the tip of his pointer finger against Indrid’s sternum, “see if you did what I told you too.”

“I did.” Indrid responds immediately, posture turning to that of an eager-to-please puppy, “I did, here, I can show you.” His fingers hit the hem of his shirt, only for Duck to grab them gently. 

“Uh uh, lemme do that. I’m in charge tonight, sugar. You’re only gonna lift a finger if I tell you to.” He lifts the shirt up and off, grins when he sees the rope looping and crossing around Indrid’s chest and shoulders. 

“Good boy, keepin this on since I did it this mornin’.”

“I, I love wearing it, it makes me feel so safe, the little pressure of it makes me feel as though you are holding me even when you are not.” Indrid sways forward, nuzzling the crook of Duck’s neck as he speaks. 

“I know, darlin’, that’s half of why I like doin’ it for you.”

“What’s the other half?”

Duck drags his hand lazily along Indrid’s back, “This.” He grabs the ropes that run down from Indrid’s shoulders and pulls, forcing Indrid to arch. The taller man whimpers excitedly.

“Now, you do the other part too?”

Indrid doesn’t speak, just whimpers and nods as Duck shifts him side to side with the ropes, flopping all the way onto his left side when Duck abruptly releases him. 

Duck slides onto the floor, kneeling so he can pull down the bright yellow pajama pants and reveal the lean lines of muscle in his boyfriend’s legs. Skates a hand up the back of one thigh to tease his finger along his ass.The plug is still there, and when he presses on it Indrid squeaks. 

“Lookit you, keepin’ that in all through a day of travel. That’s real good behavior. Surprised you didn’t get hard on that one bumpy stretch.”

“I did, but, but you said to be patient, so I was.”

“Good boy.” He purrs (Indrid must be rubbing off on him), “you wanna keep behavin’ for me?”

“Yes, please yes.” Indrid gasps when Duck kisses along his leg. 

“Glasses.” Duck holds out his hand, palm up, and the red frames are in them instantly. 

“Now…” he manhandles Indrid so he’s sitting up on the edge of the bed, “you been so good, I’m gonna give you a reward right now.”

“How-oh, oh yes!”

“I ain’t even done it yet.”

“Apologies, I got excited when I sawAHahnnnnn” his head tips back as Duck licks a long stripe up his cock. When he takes the head between his lips, Indrid makes a garbled noise, arms flying to cling to his shoulders. 

Duck bobs his head, taking him down a little more on each press forward. Dragging his tongue along the underside tends to make Indrid moan the loudest, and so he concentrates on that. Indrid’s hips twitch tentatively under his hands and he squeezes them once, hard, to let Indrid know it’s alright to thrust. 

The cock in his mouth slides back and forth, slowly at first but rapidly turning sharp and needy.

“Thank you, oh goodness, Duck, love, oh your mouth is perfect, so perfect.” His head tips back again, smile blissful and fingers stroking and clutching at Duck’s shirt. 

Duck smirks, then pulls off.

“N-no, no come back please, please-”

“I will, don’t worry. Just takin a minute to enjoy the fact you still get as desperate as a virgin in the backseat from a little blowjob.”

Indrid wiggles with a mix of embarrassment and lust “I would argue it is a blowjob worthy of enthusiasm.”

“See, I wanna tease you, but you look so goddamn sincere when you say that I can’t think of anything to say.”

“So...why not forgo speech?” Indrid nudges his cock forward, and Duck dips down to lap at the head. 

Then he reaches up, gripping the front of the harness, forcing Indrid to bend forward.

“If I’m gonna suck your dick, want you payin attention the whole fuckin time, so you see just how good I’m treatin you.”

He keeps his eyes locked on Indrid’s as he swallows him down. It’s intoxicating to watch that keen gaze go mesmerized, watch that mouth that’s always ready with a comeback part with grateful, awestruck panting. He’d do this a hundred times a day if he could. The fact that Indrid trusts him enough to do this makes him want to do it a hundred times more on top of that.

Indrid is curling further forward, muscles in his stomach and legs tensing as Duck doubles his efforts.

“Duck, Duck, love, sweetheart, ohgoodness, yes, _yes_ , pleasepleaseOH.” His whole body jerks as he cums, bitter and warm on Duck’s tongue. Duck swallows the barest amount, pulling off even as Indrid continues to pulse. 

“You made a mess, sugar.”

“A-apologieseeep!”

Duck finishes dragging two fingers through the cum streaking his cock, “Good boys clean up after themselves. Open.”

Indrid opens his mouth and Duck slips the fingers inside, his boyfriend sucking with a little whine until his fingers are clean.

He stands, stopping to kiss Indrid sweetly on the lips before retrieving his suitcase from where the hotel attendant left it in the main room. 

“You feel like doin’ more?”

“Absolutely.” Indrid crawls across the bed to sit by the suitcase as Duck opens it. 

“Alright then. Not gonna tell you everythin right off the bat, but it’s gonna be the kind of night that involves this. That okay?” He produces a thin, silver collar with an orange gem at the center. Indrid actually made it himself, so it was far more comfortable--but nearly as durable--as the one he wore when they first lived together. 

Indrid licks his lips as he grins, “It is perfect, my love.”  
\----------------------------------------------------  
Indrid has to keep checking his heart to be sure it’s beating, as he is in a state of bliss that he still cannot believe is real.

This in and of itself is a bit silly, as this is far from the first time he’s felt this way in bed with Duck. But he’s an ex-villain; dramatics are second nature. 

There was a time where someone asking him to ignore his visions of a certain timeline meant something terrible was on the horizon. Now, it’s a sign that something wonderful is coming. 

So far the wonderful has been Duck carefully binding his ankles together, then doing the same to his wrists, before slipping a blindfold across his eyes. Then Indrid discovered just how much attention Duck had paid to him over the months; the hero has a bag of items, all of which are textures Indrid finds pleasant. 

The game is simple; Indrid lays on his side, Duck rests behind him, and the hero moves one of the items along Indrid’s skin. If Indrid guesses correctly, he gets to cum that time. If he’s wrong, Duck gets to cum.

In other words, they both win every time.  
So far, Indrid has been right twice, earning him a second round of Ducks mouth on his cock and the use of some form of vibrator on his shaft that had him seeing fireworks behind the blindfold. He’s been wrong once, and now his thighs are sticky from where Duck fucked them. 

Through it all, Duck praises Indrid relentlessly, calls him a good boy as he pets his hair or kisses his shoulders, feeds him chocolate and sips of water when he needs a pause in the action. 

Currently, he’s trying to work out what the source of soft fur roving along his sides could belong to. 

“Hmmmm, is it--oh that felt nice--is it the one small mothman you bought me? The plush one?”

“Nope. It’s the inside of those handcuffs.”

“Drat. That was my second guess. You have thwarted me yet again, chivalrous one.”

“Seems I have. You want me to claim my prize gentle this time, or rough?”

(He’s asked this after each round, and so far Indrid has asked for gentle each time).

“Rough. If that is amenable to your honorable nature.”

Duck laughs, rolling Indrid on his back, “Yeah, think I can manage.”

The bed dips on either side of his head.

“Give the signal if it’s too much.” Duck cups the back of his head, bringing it up off the bed.

“I will.” Indrid opens his mouth, Duck’s cock a warm, welcome weight on his tongue. Then the weight shoves violently forward and he moans. 

“That’s it sugar, I’m gonna fuck your face until you scream.”

The hand not holding his head grabs the collar, and when Indrid tries to adjust he finds he can’t. He can’t even turn his head. 

The head of Duck’s cock pushes at his throat, then retreats. Having found his limit, Duck starts thrusting so aggressively Indrid yelps, wrists and legs twisting instinctively in their bonds.

“Fuck, almost a scream, but we can do better, heh, you like that, like bein’ at my mercy.”

Indrid tries to nod but can’t, hopes the happiness in his moans is apparent.

“Yeah, you like it, you fuckin’ need this, fuck, ‘Drid.” The sounds pouring out of Duck would put any pornstar to shame, and Indrid preens inwardly at being the cause of them. 

Then he gives a muffled scream that dies into a choking moan when Duck pushes all the way in.

“Shit, _shit_ , if that ain’t okay you need to tell me now.” He can feel Duck’s legs shaking with the effort of staying still. 

It takes a moment, but he manages a thumbs up.

“Oh thank fuck.” Duck pulls out, shoves all the way in again, and then he’s off, chasing his orgasm in tight hold of Indrid’s mouth and throat and all Indrid can do is take what he gives, moan and drool as the base of his cock smacks into his lips again and again.

“Yeah, fuck yeah, ‘Drid, c’mon, fuck it feels good when you make noise, yeah, like that, told you you’d scream for me, c’mon, be a good boy and take it all, that’s it, shit _shit_ , oh chirst I can feel you swallowin’ it.” Duck hunches forward as he finishes spilling down Indrid’s throat, tugging the collar just to feel Indrid gasp and tighten around him even more.

“Christ, that felt so fuckin good.” He pets Indrid’s cheek as he pulls out, “was, are you-”

“If, if you do not fuck me, or allow me to fuck you, right this instant I am returning to my life of crime.”

Duck guffaws, then adds, “Can’t have that, now can we?” As he yanks away the blindfold and rolls Indrid back on his side. There’s a fumbling of foil and lube behind him, then Duck nudges his cock inside him. 

“Ohhhhhh, oh goodness, more, please.” He’s still a little stretched from the plug, though the rope on his ankles keeps him from being able to spread them that wide. 

“Easy sugar, almost, fuck, there we go.” One hand drops to Indrids hip, the other sneaks beneath his own to grip the rope across his chest. His hips snap steadily and Indrid keens, trying to shift into a position to get the full stimulation he needs. 

“You wanna cum like this.”

“Please.”

“Why should I let you?” Duck coos, kissing Indrid’s cheek when he whines. 

“I, I, because I love you?”

“That is a pretty good reason…still not enough though.”

“Because AH, I, you, you love me?”

“Again, close but not quite the reason I’m lookin for.” His fingers ghost over Indrid’s cock, and he’s so close to cumming he could cry.

“Be-because I am yours?”

“Damn fuckin right. Keep goin’.”

“I, I am yours and OH, you are mine, mine, mine to serve and love and, oh goodness, Duck, I will be whatever you wish, whatever it takes to remain yours, and for you to be mine oh!” Duck’s cock finds his prostate, hitting it with swift, practiced thrusts, “Duck, love, pleasepleaseoh _fuck_.” He cums hard, is certain that it’s only the fact he’s cum several times already that there is not currently a spatter of it on the opposite wall. He whimpers in gratitude as the sensation races through him, Duck’s litany of “‘Drid, ‘Drid, ‘Drid” sweeter than any music and sincerer than any prayer as the other man cums inside him. 

Beneath the thunder of their heartbeats, he hears, “Don’t gotta be anythin other than yourself to be mine, sugar. I love you just as you are, and ain’t nothin gonna change that.”

Love, sharp and sure as any blade and brighter than any flame, wells up inside him.

“Oh, oh good.” He turns over, rests their foreheads together, “because I love you just as strongly, just as you are.”  
\---------------------------------------  
The next morning brings warm, coastal sunshine and the steady bustle of bodies in a corner diner. Indrid sits in the booth across from Duck, sending supportive texts between sips of cocoa to his sister and niece as they begin the early preparations for the ceremony that night. A little later he will go to arrange flowers for the bouquets, his sister pointing out that his “artistic eye” will be perfect for the job.

(The colors for the Little side of the bridal party are orange, white, and red. Only for Aubrey would he wear a white suit again. She knows this, and he loves her all the more for it). 

“Look, I got the new pack!”

“Aw man, lemme see.” 

Two children at the booth behind him talk animatedly, one producing a plastic binder and plunking it on the table. 

“I got a bunch of ones I already had but look, I got the new Blue Thunder.”

“Nice!”

“What are they talking about?” Indrid whispers, tilts his head as Duck peeks over the bench.

“Hero cards.” He turns back with a shrug.

“Beg pardon?”

Duck gives an amused smile, “Few years ago, some company got it into it’s head to make tradin cards for heroes. Y’know, like baseball cards, or Pokemon.”

“Those are the small creatures in the red orbs, yes?”

“Right.”

“It seems rather...competitive. And a little odd.”

“Yeah, it’s real fuckin weird, but I guess it makes money, so they keep doin’ it.”

An excited shriek makes him perk up.

“No way, you got The Moth!?”

“Uh huh.”

“Finally! Here, I’ll trade you-”

“Nuhuh, I’m not trading him for anything.”

“But The Moth’s my favorite.”

“Uh, duh, he’s everyone’s favorite! That’s why I’m keeping him.”

“Ughhhh, fine. Oh, I got the new Green Knight, do you want my old one?”

“Nope, got two new ones in my last pack.”

“Man, I need to offload it, I gotta make room for the new packs.”

“Excuse me” Indrid cuts in through the pint-sized banter, “If you are not interested in that old card, may I have it?”

The kids exchange a look, one looking quickly over at their parents, who are busy arguing with the waitstaff about something. 

“Um, okay.” 

Indrid takes the proffered, slightly bent card. 

“How come you want it?” Asks the one closest to him, “Do you like The Green Knight?”

Indrid glances across the table. Duck is watching him with a gentle smile, the golden morning light illuminating the dozens of bright futures he carries in those green eyes and kind face. 

“Of course. He’s my hero.”


End file.
